


For We Cannot Speak, Of Many Fine Things

by hallowgirl



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Also there are Jaffa Cakes, And David wears navy pyjamas, Angst and Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Cannot Spit It Out, Cross-Party Relationship, Divorce, Ed is terrible with coordination, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Foe Yay, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, M/M, Marital Problems, Minor Injuries, Opposites Attract, Slap Slap Kiss, Snark To Snark Combat, They Are Terrible With Emotions, You are very obviously in love with each other, deadpan snarker, everyone can see it, from enemies to friends to lovers, like an old married couple, medication-induced confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6912979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallowgirl/pseuds/hallowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's a mixture of Miliband whimpering and irritation at Miliband's clear lack of trust in him and perhaps something else, that same impish something that sometimes jabs out those jibes at PMQs that makes him bite his lip and then say "There might be an easier way to go about this.""</p>
<p>In which Ed has a PMQs-induced injury, David has ingenious solutions and medication-induced confessions are Not Advisable For Politicians.<br/>(And Ed hates the whole thing. Really.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	For We Cannot Speak, Of Many Fine Things

**Author's Note:**

> Because I have an awful weakness for one's love being carried about princess-style, and because I needed some fluffy Camerband given all the drama over the EU at the moment. Title is from a Thoreau quote. Leave a comment if you like it :)

_"Speech is for the convenience of those who are hard of hearing; but there are many fine things which we cannot say if we have to shout"- Walden, Henry David Thoreau._

_*_

 

"Now, you can add this to your list of failed promises."

David tries not to smirk at the sight of Miliband glowering up at him from the chair, and then his eyes drift down to Miliband's hand wrapped around his ankle. His smile fades a little.

"Miliband" he says, struggling to keep his voice level. "I really am sorry."

Miliband mutters something that sounds distinctly unforgiving but looking at the way he grimaces as he clutches at his ankle, David feels a stab of pity. He crouches down next to him.

"Here, take off your shoe." Off Miliband's stubborn glare, he arches an eyebrow. "Miliband, if it swells up, we will be _cutting_ off your shoe. And before you say anything about _cuts-"_

Miliband glowers at him, lip doing something ominously close to sticking out. David sighs and very gently begins unlacing his shoe.

Miliband winces, but doesn't pull away. David glances up at him.

"Also, exactly why is _this-"_ He points at the ankle. "My failed promise?"

Miliband is biting his lip, and David carefully slides the shoe off, rolls the sock down. Miliband opens his mouth but whatever he was about to say is choked off into a sound like a whimper as David's finger brushes his ankle bone.

"Sorry." David snatches his hand back. "Miliband-"

Miliband glares at his knees, teeth digging into his lip. David squints at the ankle which he can see now is swollen.

"Honestly, Miliband, why is this _anything_ to do with me? I only just came in to find you sitting there, grimacing like your bloody foot's been shot off-"

Miliband snorts, or the closest he can come to it whilst biting his lip. "Cameron, no-one could be blamed for grimacing during Prime Minister'th-s Question- _ow-"_

This somewhat negates his point which David chooses not to point out. "Are you trying to tell me _grimacing_ somehow sprained your ankle-"

Miliband glares, but his face is growing paler by the second. David feels the smile vanish from his own face as he balances himself on one knee, holding onto the arm of the chair with the other. "You'll probably need a doctor-"

Miliband's ankle is swollen and David hears himself _tsk_ as he looks it over. Miliband rolls his eyes. "If the entire NHS hasn't already been privatized-" The word dissolves into a sharp hiss as he tries to move his leg and David reaches up to grab his arm without thinking.

Miliband sinks back into the chair, a little colour returning to his cheeks as David's thumb brushes the skin of his forearm. "Um...thanks-I-um-"

David shakes his head. "You'll need a doctor for that, Miliband. God, it looks awful."

"T-tactful, Prime-" Miliband breaks off, biting his lip.

David rolls his eyes. "What on earth were you doing?"

Miliband's eyes are closed now, his breathing a little shallow but he still manages to scowl, his lips pressing together and David rolls his eyes. _"Miliband-"_ His voice is sing-song, but he leans forward, hand touching Miliband's now, which makes the other man's eyes flicker open immediately.

"What was it?" David moves his hand back, suppressing a grin at the flicker of indignation in Miliband's eyes. "Junior doctors? We still haven't offered profuse apologies for the floods? We're still merrily destroying the-"

"If you're so _aware_ of your own mistakes-" It sounds as though Miliband's teeth are gritted which could be from fury or pain or both. "You'd think you'd try to-ah-"

David raises an eyebrow. "So? I could do with some effective opposition. By which I mean, something resembling a coherent argument and not another lecture on our gun-happy weapons committee from the lentil-lovers' Father Christmas-"

For the first time, a corner of Miliband's mouth twitches. "Did Osborne come up with that, Cameron?"

David beams. "We're waiting for a chance at PMQs."

Miliband rolls his eyes, a little less vehemently than usual, which prompts David to say "Which brings me back to our original point."

"Which is-"

"How on earth did you do this to yourself watching PMQs? Unless you jumped up to try to throw a punch at the screen or-"

Miliband immediately looks away, and David stares at him. "You surely _didn't-"_

"Maybe you underestimate how irritating you are" Miliband snaps and David snorts because if _anyone_ is irritating-

"Maybe you underestimate how rapidly you can jump up" he mutters and Miliband tries to pull back and then whimpers again.

David shakes his head, biting his lip. "You know we're going to have to get you checked out by a doctor."

"Is that treatment still available-" Miliband bites his lip again and this time squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and David softens a little, even puts a hand on Miliband's shoulder.

He bends down so that he gets a confused impression of warmth and the scent of Miliband's aftershave as he says, gently, "Miliband, you've at least _sprained_ your ankle. We need to get you to a doctor. Or maybe even hospital-"

Miliband closes his eyes, teeth gritted. "Please don't call an ambulance. It'll look-"

David resists the urge to remind Miliband that he's not supposed to care about image and instead squeezes his shoulder. "We could probably get you there in a car-"

Miliband blinks, face whitening even as he says "What do you mean, _we?"_

David coughs, clears his throat. "Well. I mean-only if you wanted to-um-"

He busies himself carefully rolling Miliband's trouser leg up. (It should feel downright strange to be this close to Miliband, and it does a little, and yet somehow, at the same time-)

"I just-" He can't meet Miliband's eyes for some reason. "I didn't think you should have to go on your own" and then he nearly kicks himself because of course Miliband wouldn't be on his own, he'd have-" I can phone Justine, if you'd like-"

"No." Miliband's voice is far too quick, and when David glances up, puzzled, Miliband looks away, teeth still digging into his lip. "No, don't-don't call her."

David stares at him curiously. Miliband stares determinedly in the opposite direction. David opens his mouth, then closes it again.

"OK" he says. "All right, we won't call her."

Miliband swallows hard. "I-" He doesn't say anything else but when he tries to move, he grimaces, face whitening rather dramatically.

"Oh, bloody hell-" David grabs his shoulder, wondering rather frantically if Miliband is going to faint. "Miliband-"

"I'm fine, I-" Miliband's hand wanders into the air and then falls onto David's on his shoulder, suddenly squeezing hard.

Both of them stare at each other. Miliband lets his hand drop again, a tiny bit of colour returning to his cheeks now. "Sorry-"

"It's fine" David says a little too quickly.

As they both try not to look at each other, he says, with his eyes on Miliband's shoes-"Um-Miliband-listen-I don't want you to have to go to hospital on your own. However you get there."

Miliband's eyes meet his again slowly. David swallows. "Well-since this was-apparently-my fault-I-well-I-I mean, it's perfectly all right if you don't want to, obviously-but-I could-come with you?"

It comes out as more of a question than it should have. What David meant to say was _There is no way you are going to hospital on your own_ , the same way he would have liked to say _There is no way you are going to be the only person telling the Daily Mail to bugger off from sniping at your father_ or _There is no way I am leaving you alone on the day you resign from the Labour party to shiver without a coat._

It's not something he can explain. It's just that this tendency seems to rise up rather worryingly often around Miliband-a strangely _protective_ feeling, which was strange enough when Miliband was his rival and is somehow stranger now that he isn't.

But Miliband now stares up at him and David feels the colour rise to his own cheeks. "I-only if you're comfort-only if you want to, obviously-I just-thought you might not be all right on your own-" He curses himself almost immediately but Miliband blinks a few times, before he says, still wincing "But-I wouldn't want to-put you to any-"

"It's fine. I don't have meetings this afternoon. I mean, I've got papers to look through, obviously, but I can do it later." He debates rapidly whether to say it or not but then it comes out anyway-"I wouldn't be able to concentrate. I mean, knowing that you were-"

Miliband doesn't blush-David doubts he's capable of it right now-but the colour in his cheeks deepens a little and his gaze flickers down. "I-um-"

David's just gearing himself up to tell Miliband it was only an offer, when Miliband says, rather suddenly "All right."

David looks at him. "All-"

"Sorry. I mean-thank you, I-" Miliband winces again, presumably from the effort to move. "Thanks, Cameron-ow-"

"Right." David bends down, trying to hide the sudden swoop of relieved delight the idea sends through him. "OK. I think-we can probably just use my car, that will be more discreet-"

"Armed guards, bullet proof glass-" Miliband mutters, probably trying to sound sarcastic but slightly ruining the effect by half-grabbing at David's sleeve for support as he sways a little.

"I think you're probably safe to go out, Miliband. People might disagree with your ideas, but I don't think too many still want your head-"

Miliband manages to roll his eyes, even as he pales again, and David, before he can think twice about it, sits down next to him. "All right. I think we're rather going to have to-" A little uneasily, and slowly, he slides an arm around Miliband's back.

Miliband jumps (and hisses again.) "What are you-"

"Just helping you stand up, Miliband." David meets his eyes. "Unless you think you're perfectly capable-"

Miliband tries for another eye roll, but this time closes his eyes as he clearly jolts himself a little and now they stay closed for longer. A small sound rises in his throat and David stares at him. "Miliband-"

Miliband opens his eyes, clearly with an effort, and David slides his arm entirely round now. "Are you all right?"

Miliband nods, and David wonders briefly just how strange it's going to look if anybody walks in right now, to see him sitting here with his arm around Miliband's shoulders-

"All-all right, here's what I think we should do-" He reaches for Miliband's other arm and carefully lifts it. Leaning in closer to Miliband, he stands up and then pulls Miliband's arm up gently round his own shoulders.

Miliband looks as if he doesn't know whether to protest or just whine-having sprained his ankle himself, David has some sympathy for him-but as David gently guides him upright, so they're standing rather awkwardly, Miliband's thumb almost brushing his cheek-which doesn't feel as strange as it should-he manages "How did you know I was in here?"

David bites his lip, glad he doesn't have to meet Miliband's eyes.

"Someone mentioned it." He takes in a breath, with more difficulty than usual due to the fact Miliband is now leaning all of his weight on David's shoulder. "Right. We are _going-"_

Either he or Miliband moves, and the next thing David knows, they're staggering, Miliband's crying out, and David's vastly regretting his decision to help.

"OK" he says to himself and then to Miliband, "All right, that could have been better-"

_"Better?"_ Miliband half-spits the word at him but it's choked off into a grimace of pain. David feels a stab of guilt and tightens his arm around Miliband's back. "I'm sorry" he says quietly and Miliband stares at him suspiciously.

David stares back and after a moment, Miliband gives him a quick nod and then tears his gaze away.

"All right. Let's try-a little more coordinated-this time-"

This time, with Miliband leaning on his shoulders David manages to reach the door before Miliband shakes his head, grimacing. "Can we-um-"

David stops and Miliband winces, the sweat standing out on his forehead. He's ashen, teeth digging into his lip. When David turns to look at him, his nose almost bumps into Ed's jaw. "Are you all-" And he stops because this close, with his arm this tight around Ed's shoulders, he suddenly wants to-

Well-

Hug him. Or-

Or-

Press his mouth-

David shakes his head and Miliband jerks his head up, glaring at him. "I know conth-sideration isn't part of the Conservative agenda-" and any thoughts about hugging Miliband go out the window, because _this_ is the Miliband he's used to. Irritating, preciously pedantic, downright bloody-sometimes infuriatingly _endearing_ Miliband.

David doesn't want to think about where _endearing_ came from.

"You do know I'm _helping y_ ou, Miliband?"

Miliband glowers at him and David resists the urge to drop him. "Maybe you could have done with that a few months ago-"

"What?"

"Nothing." David offers Miliband a smile-the charming, pleasant, Etonian-tinged smile he knows irritates Miliband the most.

Miliband glares and shrugs himself out from under David's arm. "If you're going to be insulting- _ahh-"_ He grabs at David's arm for support as he gasps in pain, his face whitening so rapidly that David's torn between concern and downright irritation.

"You idiot." It comes out louder than he intended, as he grabs Miliband's arm, forcing it back around his shoulders. "You could have bloody done yourself damage."

He's got no doubt that Miliband would pull himself away if he could but from the way he's biting his lip, David deduces that fortunately, he's in too much pain to move.

(David reconsiders his use of the word _fortunately.)_

"No doubt-what you'd _want-"_ Miliband squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, David's glaring at him, and somehow-he really isn't sure how-one of his hands is gripping Miliband's hair.

"You actually think I want you to hurt yourself?"

He waits for a defiant look from Miliband or an angry retort but instead Miliband just stares back at him. This close, it almost looks as though his lip trembles a little.

He gives a quick shake of the head. David swallows. "Good." For a moment he considers giving Miliband a pat on the arm but then takes another look at their positions and decides against it.

"Good" and then he slides his arm back under Miliband's, yanking the door open with the other hand. Miliband swallows and then as David guides him forward another step, says, in a voice so small it almost gets lost "Thank you."

David turns to look at him to see if Miliband actually just uttered those words and perhaps then to glance down to see if hell has in fact frozen over, but as he does, Miliband grabs at his arm again and whimpers. David looks at him, his mind still dwelling on Miliband's previous words and irritation spiking sharper in his chest the more he thinks of them.

It's a mixture of Miliband whimpering and irritation at Miliband's clear lack of trust in him and perhaps something else, the same impish something that sometimes jabs out those jibes at PMQs that makes him bite his lip and then say "There might be an easier way to go about this."

"Fantastic-" Miliband's doubled over, standing on one leg, hissing through his teeth as he leans on David for support."What-is-"

David puts a hand on Miliband's shoulder then and Miliband raises his eyes to David's. They're big and dark and confused and something in David's chest aches, under the sense of mischief suddenly buzzing in a smile that keeps threatening to break over his mouth. "Right" he says, hoping all the strength from those cricket games years ago still remains somehow. "I know you might not trust me politically-"

Miliband just stares at David, eyes even wider now.

"But you-well, you must know I wouldn't put you in danger."

Miliband is staring at him, brows furrowing, but he gives a small nod. David would be concerned at the lack of speech, but he supposes it might be the pain.

"All right." David clears his throat, tenses his arms, then relaxes them, wondering why there's a thrill of nervousness under the grin that's twitching at his mouth. "Well-um-just bear with me, for a moment, Miliband."

He steps closer so that his shirt's almost brushing Miliband's. Then, before Miliband can say anything, he pushes one hand into his back, and stretches his other arm across the back of Miliband's knees.

Miliband lets out a strangled yell as David lifts him into the air.

David's never been so grateful for those long hours that stretched out under the sun playing cricket at Eton; nor for the jogging and the tennis and the constant insistence of his personal trainer that he looks after himself. He manages to stagger a little and adjust himself so that as Miliband's arm fastens around his neck automatically, grasping for balance, he's got one arm under his legs and the other around his back so that he's holding him, Miliband's hands fastening round David's collar before the other man's mouth can shape itself around the yell: _"Cameron!"_

"I know this may be rather unorthodox-"

_"Cameron!"_ Miliband's fists drum pointlessly on his back as David manages to take a few steps forward, swinging Miliband out bridal-style into the corridor. "Put me _down-"_

"In case you've forgotten, Miliband, you can't _walk_ currently, so this is actually rather an act of kindness-"

"This is _not_ an act of kindness-this is an-an-put me _down,_ you Bullingdon bas-"

"Careful, careful, Miliband. No swearing in the House of Commons-" David winces as Miliband's fist catches his shoulder blade. _"Ow,_ stop _hitting-"_

"Then _put me down-"_

"What on _earth_ is going on here?"

David smiles cheerily as Bercow stares at them, even as Miliband squawks and wriggles frantically, before hissing with pain, clearly having jolted the ankle again. "Ah. Afternoon, Mr. Speaker. Well, Miliband's sprained his ankle, therefore Miliband can't _walk_ on his ankle, therefore I am carrying Miliband-" David shifts him a little higher-"To _save_ his ankle."

The glare Miliband gives him could have shrivelled Rasputin.

*

"This still doesn't explain why you felt the need to carry Miliband" Bercow mutters, as Miliband glowers up at David from the safety of the Prime Ministerial office.

"Because it was quick-" David kneels down next to him to check on the current state of the ankle. "Because it was easy, and because I wanted to."

"That-that was your c-campaign manifesto, Cameron-" A tiny bit of colour has returned to Miliband's cheeks now. He glares at David from under long lashes as his head tips back against the chair. "And-"

Suddenly, he breaks off, and the colour flushes brighter into his cheeks. "What do you mean, you wanted to?"

David stops dead, keeping his eyes away from Miliband's.

"I-" He swallows, focuses on fussing with Miliband's sock. "I meant-I didn't want you to break your ankle, trying to walk."

He forces himself to meet Miliband's eyes, feels the smile push at his mouth again. "Thought you appreciated honesty, Miliband?"

"What do you mean, thought you appreciated-"

"Be honest with me." David gives him a smile. "That hurt less than walking."

Miliband glares at him, brows knotted-and then looks away, with the slightest blush. Bercow raises an eyebrow.

"Apparently, the car's on its' way-" David sinks down into a chair next to Miliband's. "So we just have to wait."

Bercow's mouth twitches. "Is Miliband going to be carried to the car-"

_"No."_ Miliband glares at David and David arches an eyebrow. "If you break your ankle, shall I leave you on the ground?"

Miliband glowers. Bercow takes a breath.

"I don't wish to make this more uncomfortable-"

"That ith-isn't possible" mutters Miliband.

"But-I've got to say-the less pressure you put on your ankle-" Bercow winces. "Probably the better."

Miliband's head snaps up to stare at him. "You can't mean-"

Bercow shrugs. "It's up to you, of course."

David immediately makes the effort to wipe any hint of a smile off his face. Miliband glowers at him anyway.

*

"I'm loath to point this out but you really do owe me some gratitude."

The look Miliband gives David reminds him of a lot of words but not many to do with _gratitude._

Miliband then just glares at his knees, looking at his ankle so mournfully that David feels a pang of sympathy and sinks down next to him. "You know this wouldn't have happened if you were able to control yourself while you watch the television" he says, unable to resist and Ed rolls his eyes as David squints at his ankle which appears to have stopped swelling, at least. Ed makes to lean back and then winces. David catches his knee, bringing him to a stop.

"You know this wouldn't have happened-" Miliband hisses out, after a few seconds of gritted teeth. "If you could actually answer a question-"

"Ah." David nods, biting back a smirk. "So this is all my fault."

Miliband glares at him. David arches an eyebrow. "Of course, if you don't want to answer-"

"For you to talk about answering- _ow-"_ David winces for him this time and tightens his hold on Miliband's trousers. "In that case, yes, it _is_ your fault-it's no wonder people can't control-"

David keeps his eyes on the floor so the laughter welling in his chest doesn't escape because something about this is almost gleefully enjoyable-something about winding Miliband up, about seeing the annoyance knot his eyebrows together, about coaxing a reaction out of him, especially when Miliband's struggling to keep his voice level, to sound reasonable-

He looks up to see Miliband glowering again. "I'm glad you find this amusing."

Apparently, David's attempts to keep his laughter under control aren't as formidable as he'd hoped.

"No-" David shakes his head, putting a hand on Miliband's arm. "No, honestly, I don't-I find it amusing that you're trying to _blame_ me-"

"It's _your fault_ -if you'd just bloody _answer_ anything-"

_"Miliband-"_ David feels a laugh break out of his mouth and Miliband does something so utterly close to a pout that it doesn't do much to help David rein his humour in. "It's not my-honestly, if you just can't _control_ yourself around me-"

He stops immediately and his eyes flicker to Miliband's before he can stop himself. Miliband's staring at him, eyes a little too wide, and as David watches, a bit of colour returns to his cheeks. He bites his lip, avoiding David's eyes.

David can feel the heat rising in his own face. "I meant-watching PMQs, you know-"

"Yes." Miliband nods a little too fast.

A short silence falls, which only ends when Miliband's eyes drift downwards. David's eyes follow and they both stare for a moment at David's hand, still wrapped around Miliband's arm.

David pulls his hand back immediately. Miliband looks away, colour rising higher, teeth catching his bottom lip. David's hand hovers awkwardly for a moment before he slowly lowers it to Miliband's ankle.

The door opens and Bercow appears, with a raised eyebrow. "I appreciate the authority, Prime Minister, but I'm not your secretary."

David frowns but then Bercow holds up a phone and says "Your _actual_ secretary just phoned. The car's here."

Miliband folds his arms and sticks out his lip like a schoolboy. For some reason, David finds himself noticing how full his lips are, the way his mouth softens into a pout, and not for the first time.

He blinks, tears himself out of the reverie, and sighs, stands up, stretches. "Come on, then."

Miliband stares at him. "You can't mean-"

"Well, I'm rather fed up of being blamed for everything." David raises an eyebrow, the words coming out a little louder than he intends. "And if you make your ankle worse, I've no doubt that'll somehow be my responsibility as well, so I'm rather keen to avoid that, if it's all the same to you."

Miliband blinks. Bercow stares. David realises belatedly that his voice has risen to rather more of a shout.

Miliband stares up at him and David turns away before he can say anything else.

"Since he has an objection to me carrying him-"

He can see Miliband rolling his eyes before he even finishes the sentence, but Bercow's already laughing. "I don't think I'm capable of doing it, Prime Minister."

"Well, we're going to have to keep it out of sight of the photographers then. If we can't find someone Miliband prefers, since it's apparently _my_ fault he's injured-"

"Cameron-" Miliband's voice is smaller now.

"No, it's perfectly all right, Miliband. In fact, it's quite clear that the _last_ thing you want is my help, and the last thing I'd want is to put you through having to accept it, so why don't we just spare us both the trouble?"

He stands with his back to Miliband, hands on his hips. He can feel Bercow staring at him.

He knows Miliband is too, and he deliberately keeps his back to him, fingers digging into his shirt. Somehow, he regrets taking the suit off when he came in, dropping it onto the back of a chair.

"Look-" Bercow's voice trails off. "Prime Minister-why don't I leave the two of you alone, for a moment?"

David blinks and then turns but Bercow just arches an eyebrow. "I had enough of this each Wednesday, Prime Minister, for the last five years. I'm not inclined to re-enact that again, so why don't you let me know when you're ready for the car?"

As he heads for the door, David resists the urge to remind him that he thought he _wasn't his secretary._

As the door closes, however, he finds himself gripped with the childish desire to stare away from Miliband.

Miliband keeps his eyes fixed on his knees. David keeps himself turned away.

"Cameron-" Miliband's voice is lower now. When David turns round, Miliband glances up at him quickly through his eyelashes, and then looks away. "Look, I-um-I'm sorry-"

"Oh, don't apologize." David keeps his hands on his hips as he turns, the spike of anger rearing as suddenly as the glee had earlier. "I mean, it was obviously _my_ fault that you injured your own ankle, and that I then showed some concern and then, of course, that I tried to provide some assistance-"

"Cameron, I didn't mean-"

"Though, of course, I suppose I _couldn't_ provide assistance-I know you believe belonging to the Conservative party pretty much damns the compassion out of you-"

"I never said that." Miliband's head jerks up, his eyes narrowing. "I've never said that."

David laughs low in his throat and turns away.

"I-" David's eyes catch their reflections in the mirror and he watches as Miliband's fall shut.

There's a long silence and then "Cameron-" Miliband raises his gaze. "I'm-I'm th-sorry."

David raises an eyebrow.

"I-um-I didn't mean it-I didn't mean to-" Miliband opens and closes his mouth for a few moments, which any other time, David would find irritatingly endearing and consequently would end up having to furiously deny that small fact to his political conscience.

"The thing is-" Miliband's starting to gabble, which Miliband does whenever he's frantically trying to explain something to himself and everyone else, and which David shouldn't know as well as he does. "The thing is-I was-I-um-I-didn't mean to upth-upset you-I honeth-stly-I-"

The lisp is reappearing as well. David wishes he could find it irritating.

"I just-I thought-well-I didn't think that-"

The colour's rising in Miliband's face. When he awkwardly tries to turn towards David and lets out a small whimper, that sends a sharper pang through David's chest than he should ever feel for Miliband.

He tells himself it's that-that, and that alone-that makes him turn round and walk back to the sofa to sink down beside Miliband.

Miliband's blushing and wincing and babbling. David's torn between the need to examine his ankle and the need to-

Well.

Touch him-

Touch him on the shoulder.

Just to-check-that he's-

He's torn out of these thoughts by Miliband chewing frantically at his lower lip and that's when David sighs and says "How badly does it hurt?"

Miliband stares at him. "C-Cameron-"

David chooses to tell himself the sympathy takes over. His hand ends up on Miliband's arm and he says "I heard you. Now, tell me how badly it hurts."

Miliband stares at him, then looks away, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth, which quickly vanishes as he tries to move his ankle and winces again.

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

Ed bites his lip.

Right then is when Bercow chooses to open the door and say "Both of you still alive?"

David glances down at himself, then at Miliband. "Apparently."

"Well, this may not be my responsibility-" Bercow glances at the corridor. "But if we want to suspend any further damage to Miliband's ankle, the hospital might be the ideal place-"

"Right. Of course." David glances at Miliband. "It's up to you."

Miliband's brow furrows and David shakes his head. "Not the hospital. That's not up for discussion. I meant-"

This started out of that stupid impulse to get that whining little glare out of Miliband and now suddenly, David can't meet Miliband's eyes and he finds himself fixing his gaze on his knees.

"I meant-if I could-help you."

. "By help, you mean-"

"Um. Yes." David keeps his eyes away from Miliband's, because this is ridiculous. He's trying to help _Miliband,_ of all things, and-

"Well, it's up to you. But your ankle looks-" He stops, glances up at Bercow. "No-one knows about this apart from us, of course."

For the first time, Bercow looks uncomfortable. _"Well."_

David frowns. For a moment, he debates covering Miliband's ears but decides against it on the basis that that might dissuade Miliband even further from letting David go with him. "What do you mean, _well?"_

_"Well-"_ Bercow takes a step closer to the door. "There's not much interest. At all."

There's a bump at the door. David frowns at it, then at Bercow.

Bercow sighs. "A few people may have found out."

David gets up, crosses the room.

Bercow sighs again. "Not many people."

David opens the door and George almost falls into the room.

"Is it true?" he demands and then, catching sight of Miliband on the couch, turns to beam at Nick, Michael, Tim, and Yvette, all gathered behind him in the corridor. "It's true."

Nick's phone immediately comes up and David half-tackles it out of his hand. "No. No, go _away-"_

"Is it true you carried Miliband?" George is now half-pushing his way through the door, almost digging his elbow into David's chest, while Yvette seems to be dragging him back by the sleeve. "Can you do it again? Danny wants a picture-"

"Get out." David pushes him hard in the chest, in a manner that may be considered rather un Primeministerial but he feels is perfectly justified as of this moment. "Just- _leave-"_

George is still struggling to poke his head through the doorway when the door is pushed wider and Bercow appears at David's side. "This is _not amusing,_ Chancellor-"

"Well-" says Michael, who appears to be trying to peer over Nick's shoulder. More are gathering behind them now-David closes his eyes as he catches sight of Tim also fumbling with his phone. "It is _rather_ amusing. I mean, I appreciate it might not be _entirely-"_

Bercow gives Michael the same look that he bequeathes on him whenever Michael happens to bring up one of Everton's recent defeats in front of Andy. "It is _not_ an amusing matter-"

Until recently, David rarely happened to agree with Bercow whenever he reproved Michael but times have changed.

"He's right" and this is one of the only times in David's life when he's happy to see Corbyn, who's standing in the middle of them all, arms folded in one of those old blazers, accompanied by Hilary who's shaking his head, with that rather grandfatherly disapproving look. "This is _not_ a laughing matter-"

George snorts. "But to you, _most_ things aren't a laughing matter. I mean, you remind us of that every week-"

_"Chancellor."_ Bercow fixes him with a glare, which does nothing to curb George's grin. "This is _not_ the Commons and this is not the time or place for-"

He's interrupted by David hissing over his shoulder. _"Go away."_

"Rather unfriendly" George remarks with a grin. "Of course, if you'd prefer to be friendly with _Miliband-"_

_"Just leave."_ With that, David steps back inside and slams the door, turning back to the couch where Miliband just lifts his head and glowers at him.

Bercow sighs. "We may have underestimated the interest."

*

It takes a while to persuade Miliband to leave the room-a mission which involves repeated gesturing to the ankle, Bercow reminding him that the office, while rather opulent, he conceded, was really not a place for permanent habitation and eventually, David musing aloud on what time it was in New York and quite what an older brother would think about all this. It's the last one that makes Miliband scowl and grit his teeth and finally force out a _"Fine",_ and David resists the urge to point out that Miliband really could sound a little more grateful.

He wisely doesn't, and they wait for Bercow to clear the-by now, rather large-group of MPs that's gathered outside in the hallway, with some help from Jeremy ("Chancellor, this might be one of the few times the Prime Minister does _not_ need your help"), before David sighs and says "Come on, then."

Miliband keeps his arms folded and glowers but when he pushes himself upright, his face crumples as he tries to take a step forward. David sighs. "Miliband. "

Miliband doesn't look at him, biting his lip so hard a fleck of blood appears, and that's when David takes a deep breath, steps forward and scoops him up.

This time, Miliband doesn't struggle, but he's stiff at first, unyielding and sullen, like Florence when she's having a tantrum. It's only when David stops to readjust his weight that Miliband's arm automatically falls around David's neck, steadying them both.

David's eyes meet Miliband's. Miliband looks away, a blush rising to his cheeks. "I hate this" he announces, as though David might have forgotten.

"I'm under no illusion."

"Unusual, for a Tory-"

"Tories carrying Labour-perhaps it's not so unusual, after all-"

"Shut up, Cameron-"

It takes a little less time than David would have expected-and Bercow's knowledge of the same passage Brown used during his attempts to persuade Nick over during those long weeks in May-to get Miliband to the car. Luckily, being in the Commons so long imparts a knowledge of entrances that would slip most people's eyes.

It's only when he finally helps Miliband half-scramble into the back that David can finally relax.

"What do you eat, cement?" he asks, as he slides in after Miliband, the protection team already surrounding them.

"Nobody asked you to-"

"I'm merely _enquiring_ , Miliband."

"I thought it was _you_ who insisted you needed a diet-"

"No, it was my _advisers_ who _speculated-"_

"I know you don't like the truth, Cameron, but-"

The argument takes them all the way to the hospital which for anyone else would be rather a record, but, David reflects with a touch of pride, for him and Ed, is child's play.

*

Ed sinks his chin as low as he can into his chest and wonders how on earth the day can possibly get worse.

Next to him, Cameron sighs and leans back in his seat. "I Spy?"

Ed glares at him. Cameron grins. Ed glares harder.

He wouldn't have pictured spending the day in a private waiting room with his foot propped up on the chair. He certainly wouldn't have pictured spraining his ankle when Cameron didn't answer the umpteenth question in a row, and Ed just leapt up before he could even _think_ about it, and the next thing he'd known he'd been clutching onto a chair, pain shooting up his ankle, gasping expletives through gritted teeth.

He certainly wouldn't have pictured dragging himself into one of the small side chambers and having Cameron come across him and then-then insist on-

Ed glares at Cameron miserably and tries not to remember the moment he'd suddenly found himself being lifted into the air.

Cameron winks, which annoys Ed even more and which Cameron probably knows. "Come on, Miliband. We might as well pass the time."

Ed folds his arms tighter across his chest and tries not to whimper. It's all too easy for Cameron. _He's_ not the one sitting here in agony, _he's_ not the one who can't stand up without support, _he's_ not the one who's just had to put up with being carried out of the Commons like a _child._

Everything's easy for _Cameron._

This thought irks Ed even more and Cameron darts another grin at him. Ed glowers back.

"I'm glad you find it amusing" he mutters, and Cameron presses his lips together, clearly making every effort to wipe the grin from his face.

"I don't" he says and Ed makes an impatient noise and looks away.

Cameron touches his shoulder. "Honestly. I don't find it amusing that you're hurt, Miliband."

Ed glares in the other direction for a few moments before he slowly turns back to Cameron.

"I notice we're in a private waiting room."

"Easier for the protection team" Cameron remarks airily, gesturing to the door. "Plus, it's less likely the press can get hold of a photo of me carrying you."

"It is _not funny-"_ and Ed hates the way his voice trails off into a whine, even as Cameron looks away, clearly stifling a smirk.

This time, Cameron bites his lip before a small snort escapes. "Miliband, you have to admit, it is rather-novel-"

Ed tries-stupidly, he has to admit-to push himself up off the seat and immediately sinks down again, a hiss of pain escaping. Cameron's laughter dies away in an instant, his hand fastening on Ed's sleeve. "Don't be an idiot, Miliband."

Ed glares back at him. "It's hardly _idiotic_ to want to eth-scape being mocked-" He winces at the lisp that rears its' way back into his voice and Cameron rolls his eyes, as Ed glares at his knees.

"It's idiotic to do more damage to yourself."

Ed keeps glaring. After a moment, Cameron says "Fine, Miliband. I _apologize_ for carrying you-"

"Not for carrying-" Ed mutters, hating the fact he can feel the colour rising in his cheeks and the fact he can't bring himself to finish the sentence. Cameron looks away hastily, probably to hide the smirk that's risen back to his mouth and Ed falls back in his chair, wondering just what on earth he's done to deserve this.

"I don't want to give you another chance not to answer, Cameron-"

"Wonderful-"

"I thought waiting times were supposed to have gone down under your watch?"

"Maybe you just need to acquire a bit more patience, Miliband."

"Tell that to the patients left waiting-"

"Currently, you are _one_ of those patients, Miliband-"

"I didn't mean _literally-"_

"I'll note your concerns to Jeremy" Cameron says, leaning back. _"Dear Jeremy, Ed Miliband professes a deep concern at his own lack of patience, will require extensive cranial surgery to fix-"_

"Shut up" Ed mutters, which isn't the best line he could have come up with but he is in _pain._

"Well, I need some way to pass the time."

"Now, who's impatient?"

"Me." Cameron claps his hands together. "Come on, Miliband. You can't just ignore the person who's helping you. It's actually considered rather rude."

Cameron widens his eyes and looks so disconcertingly beseeching that Ed has to bite his own lip to hold back the smirk that wants to make its' way to his mouth.

"It's considered rude not to answer questions."

Cameron raises an eyebrow. "I'll answer the question of whether you're right or wrong in whatever game you choose to pass the time."

Ed takes a deep breath and tries to glare at Cameron. There's no way he's going to succumb to whatever game Cameron's playing (if he's playing a game at all, and Ed doesn't know which option he'd prefer.)

Cameron might be able to use tricks on his own backbenchers and supporters and voters. That doesn't mean they'll work on Ed.

Ten minutes later, Cameron's merrily saying "I spy, with my little eye" and Ed's cursing the dearth of intriguing pursuits in hospital waiting rooms.

"Something beginning with....p."

"Privatization."

"Sod off, Miliband."

"If you can have "Nuneaton" for N-"

_"Something beginning with p."_

"Poverty. Increasing. Every moment."

"Shut _up,_ Miliband. I'm trying to _help-"_

"And I'm sure the doctors will be _thrilled_ to see you, given your Health Secretary's current treatment of junior doctors."

"Good thing it's not me with the sore ankle."

Ed rolls his eyes and nestles his chin in his hands. "I've already got an iron plate."

"In your wrist?"

Ed glances at him. "How did you know?"

For the slightest moment, Cameron looks a little uncomfortable but his face clears so quickly that Ed's probably one of the only people who would have noticed.

"We do pay some attention to detail in the Conservative party, Miliband. I remember that happening. Broke your wrist, didn't you?"

"On holiday." Ed's about to add "With-" but he snatches the words back at the last minute. "I fell."

Cameron shoots him a quicker, sharper look but all he says is "I remember."

He eyes Ed's arm with a rather curious look. Ed rolls his eyes because whenever Cameron gives him that look-that slightly wondering _, inquisitive_ look-it's oddly endearing and Ed's very, very good at not thinking about that.

"Must be ghastly" Cameron remarks, and Ed feels that stab of something that should be distaste-distaste at that polished, Etonian edge to Cameron's voice, that privilege that's soaked into the words-but instead is something like _fondness_. It occurs disturbingly often around Cameron.

"Can you feel it?" Cameron asks next and Ed almost jumps out of his skin, before he sees Cameron's eyes on his wrist.

"Oh-oh. Right. Yes. Um-no, not really."

"God. It's amazing, that you could have a whole-" Cameron shakes his head, endearingly bemused and Ed manages, his voice a little higher than usual for some reason, "It's called modern medicine, Cameron. Though given some of your Health Secretary's decisions recently, I understand if you're not familiar with it-"

"Dear God, Miliband." Cameron doesn't sound nearly as stung as he should, and before Ed can pull away, Cameron taps his wrist. Ed gulps as Cameron's fingers flicker over his wristbone. "See, I would have thought _this_ was a plate-"

"It's called my _wrist,_ Cameron."

"So it's _not_ a plate. You're just rather _skinny-"_

"Kinder politics not rubbing off on you, Cameron-"

Ed's voice trails off as Cameron's fingers curl around his wrist. Cameron's hand is warm and the feeling of his fingers wrapped around Ed's wrist for some reason leaves Ed chewing at his mouth, heat prickling uncomfortably at his cheeks. "Um-" He shouldn't feel like this because Cameron was _carrying_ him, for pity's sake-and it was stupid and pointless and overdramatic and so-this shouldn't mean _anything_ , but-

Ed tries to grab hold of his thoughts but for some reason, he feels suddenly light-headed. All his attention seems to be drawn to the warmth of Cameron's fingers round his wrist and then the tickle of Cameron's thumb fluttering over his wrist bone.

Cameron's eyes flicker to his own. Ed peers up through his eyelashes. Cameron stares back at him for a moment and Ed feels his heartbeat pick up.

He tears his gaze away rapidly. "Paint" he blurts out. "Plaster. Parquet."

"What?" Cameron's grip loosens a little but his hand is still there, gentle on Ed's wrist. "Oh. Yes- _parquet,_ Miliband, _honestly-"_

_"I_ don't know. What were _you_ thinking of?"

Cameron's finger slides over his wristbone as he releases him and Ed shivers slightly in a way that's far less unpleasant than it should be.

"I thought you were meant to be in touch with the people, Miliband, you can't _cheat-"_

"Cameron, a _Tory_ talking about cheating is laughable in itself-" He feels himself exhale shakily as the familiar words slide out, solid ground beneath his feet.

"Speaking of being in touch with people-" Cameron leans forward, pulling out his mobile phone. "Is Justine picking you up?"

Ed feels the solidity he'd just gained a few seconds before crumble away.

He swallows hard, struggles to steady his voice. "Um-no. No, I-I don't think so-"

Cameron gives him an odd look. "Does she know?"

Ed should say yes. He wants to say yes, but he hesitates a second too long.

Cameron's brow furrows but he looks away. "I could get someone to ring her-"

"No." Ed snaps the word out far too quickly. His eyes leap to Cameron's before he can stop them.

Cameron's staring at him and Ed looks away quickly, feeling the heat rise in his face and glaring at his ankle. He wishes he'd never bothered to watch PMQs in the first place.

Cameron is silent for a minute that stretches out horribly and then says quietly "All right."

Which is even worse because that just makes Ed feel guilty and the last thing he should be feeling is _guilty_ when _he's_ the one sitting here with a sprained ankle because of Cameron, and Cameron's the one who's-who's just brought-

He glances at Cameron and feels another, sharper stab of guilt. He scowls.

Typical _Cameron_ to be the one to drag this out of him.

"Justine and I-" He stares furiously in the other direction, folds his arms tightly over his chest. "We're-um. We're-well. We're-not exactly-" He swallows. "Things aren't exactly easy at the moment."

There's a long silence. Ed determinedly refuses to look anywhere near Cameron.

"Well." Cameron draws in a breath, as if about to say something and then hesitates, before trying. "I'm sure-she'd still want to know. When she gets home-"

"She won't." Ed snaps the words out too quickly and he stares hard at the floor, tracing his shoe over the pattern of the tiles. "I mean-she won't be getting home. She won't _be..._ at home."

The words hang there between them. Ed can practically hear the cogs in Cameron's brain turning. "So she's-on a trip-"

Ed looks away, hears the small catch of breath and resists the urge to roll his eyes as Cameron finally understands.

There's a long silence during which Ed stares resolutely away and feels Cameron's gaze resting on his back, and when Cameron finally says "Christ, Ed, I'm sorry-" Ed can't even look at him.

"I mean, I didn't-" Cameron's hand brushes his arm and Ed pulls away a little too fast.

He regrets it almost instantly but he can hardly tell Cameron that, so he just stares at his shoes and wonders if there could have been a worse way for Cameron to find out.

"It's fine" he manages, a few seconds too late. And then "It-well, it's _not_ -but-it's for the best, I mean-" He hates those words, the useless platitudes that have slid out almost unthinkingly, and he glances at Cameron before he can stop himself.

Cameron shakes his head, blowing out a breath. "Christ, I don't know what to say."

Ed laughs, but the sound's a little shaky, jagged. "There's nothing _to_ say" he points out, and his voice dwindles embarrassingly on the last word.

Cameron stares at him. "But she wrote an article-about being your wife-"

He trails off as Ed laughs again, a little more hollow this time. "People don't know. She was asked and-she couldn't say _no,_ so-"

Cameron's gaze flickers away, tracing the same line on the floor as Ed. "Well-you don't have to tell me but-I mean-"

Cameron bites his lip. The sight sends a pang of something through Ed's chest, something that isn't exactly unpleasant.

"You do have somewhere to _stay,_ don't you?"

Ed nods, briskly. There's a moment of silence and then-even though it's none of Cameron's business-he says "We're taking turns at the house. It's easy enough for us each to rent an apartment somewhere else. It's over in Merton, mine."

"The boys-"

"They're with Justine." Ed's voice is harsher than he meant. Then, "Her parents have been coming down to help with them. Not at the house, but-I'm not home until midnight. It's easier."

David gives him a sharp look. "How come you're not home until midnight?"

Ed laughs but the sound comes out sharp, humourless.

"I work" is all he says and he ignores Cameron's puzzled look.

Because he does work. He works until he feels as though he might fall asleep and then he walks, finding himself on a park bench or in a tube station at midnight, with the city night always too quiet around him and his thoughts always too loud.

Cameron bites his lip again and scratches his head thoughtfully. Ed can smell his aftershave this close, something he knows confusingly well and even as he glowers at the floor, somehow, his leg's shifted a little so that it's almost brushing Cameron's. He realises, for the first time, that he can feel Cameron's body heat and that confuses him, so that for a moment he doesn't know whether to shift towards him or not.

"Jesus." Cameron's voice is low. Ed's tempted to roll his eyes again but then Cameron says "God, Ed-I really am sorry."

Ed shrugs and, with there being very little else to say, manages "It's fine. It's not as if it's your fault."

"I still-" Cameron breaks off for a moment and then says "I-I know it might not seem like it, but I do-I do-worry about you."

_That_ lifts Ed's gaze, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

Cameron doesn't look away but the colour rises in his cheeks.

"Because-well-" Cameron threads his fingers together, coughs a little self-consciously. "I-don't-it's not as if I want. "He clears his throat. "I don't want you to be. Unhappy. Miliband."

He clears his throat again, meets Ed's gaze just for a moment before he glances away.

Ed opens his mouth and searches for something. All he finds is "Oh."

"I mean-" Cameron coughs again. "I know you imagine all Tories have absolutely no conscience or sense of empathy, but I just-"

He chews his lip. Ed feels a pang of something that's not entirely unpleasant, and leaves him resisting the urge to bite his nails.

"I-" Ed clears his own throat. "I never said that. I don't-"

He's cut off by Cameron laughing rather hollowly. "Miliband, I can always replay some PMQs."

Ed opens his mouth and then closes it again. "Um. Cameron. I-"

Cameron looks away and then says, rather brusquely, "So there's nobody you can call?"

Ed swallows, but shakes his head rather meekly.

Cameron just nods, without meeting his eyes which is when Ed clears his throat and says "I. Well, I um. I don't think that."

He rubs the back of his neck, feels his teeth digging into his lip. "That you're-you know. Um-without empathy. Conscience. Honestly. I didn't mean that."

Cameron looks at him slowly. Ed bites his lip.

"Honesth-stly." He feels the colour creep up his cheeks at the lisp. His eyes fall to his knees. "Um. I know I haven't-I know you may not have got that impreth-impression-"

Cameron arches an eyebrow. Ed shuffles awkwardly, jolting the ankle again. "Ow-"

"Are you all right?" Cameron's voice is softer, his hand touching Ed's arm. Ed feels the colour in his cheeks flame and is suddenly very conscious that they're in a room alone.

Which shouldn't matter.

At all.

A nurse pokes her head in, calling his name. (She shows no sign of surprise at the sight of Cameron next to him, so presumably Cameron's team have briefed everybody, and he doesn't know if he should be thankful or not.)

He moves to get up and then stops. "Um."

Cameron's eyes meet his and now there's a hint of that smile Ed's horribly familiar with twitching at his mouth. Ed feels the scowl crawl back to his own face.

Cameron tilts his head. "Would you like some help, Miliband?"

Ed sighs reluctantly but Cameron's already getting up, and before Ed can do anything, he bends down and lifts him again.

The nurse has clearly been briefed because she doesn't laugh (which Ed thinks might net her an OBE and he debates recommending it to Cameron.) This time, Cameron stops to shift him into place and when Ed's arm falls around his shoulder, his hand fastens rather hesitantly around Cameron's collar.

"Is this-"

And Cameron says "It's fine" before Ed can finish talking.

It's at the door that Ed says "Thank you" a little too quickly and Cameron just looks at him this time.

He doesn't say anything but he stops and adjusts Ed a little, letting him settle into place against his chest. His hand lingers for a moment on Ed's hair.

He carries Ed more gently this time and when he lowers him onto the examining bed, his hand just brushes Ed's neck in a way that could be an accident but that feels almost tender.

(Ed hates that it's hard to pretend that he doesn't like it.)

*

"She was professional" Cameron remarks, once the nurse has left them alone after some moments of examining the ankle and pointedly not asking how it happened. (Ed can only surmise she's been tipped off in advance.)

"Imagine why your Health Secretary wants to interfere, then-"

"For God's sake, Miliband." Cameron tilts his head back, though an amused smile peeks out at his mouth.

"Is that your only answer, Prime Minister?"

Ed waits for Cameron's quip, for some line thrown out about how _You remember that's not your job, anymore, Miliband?_

But instead, Cameron just gives him a smile-not a grin, a smile. He smiles for a little longer than he needs to.

"You know, I never thought I'd say I missed that, Miliband."

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it when he realises he can't conjure up a remark. Cameron's still smiling at him and to his annoyance, he can feel the colour rising in his cheeks. But that smile's still there.

Ed finds himself suddenly groping for words, blushing, unable to quite meet Cameron's eyes.

He can feel a smile creeping to his own mouth when the nurse reappears at the door. Ed could be imagining it but Cameron almost jumps a little, as if they've been caught doing something undignified.

*

When Miliband returns from the X-ray chamber, he's rather less grateful than earlier.

"How come I'm allowed to stay in here?" he says rather grumpily, for someone who's getting a bed.

"Well-" David says it because he knows the reaction it will pull forth from Miliband, the rolled eyes and the sighing and all that moralistic disapproval-"Prime Ministers negotiate, Miliband."

Miliband rolls his eyes. David inwardly congratulates himself.

"Better negotiating skills than you'd usually preth-sent, Cameron-"

"And here I thought you were all for staying in the EU." David drags a chair closer to the bed, and Miliband tips his head back against the pillow.

"Isn't that rather your party's current complaint about you?" The tone lacks venom, though, and he whimpers as his ankle moves a little.

David can't help but glance at it. "How bad is it?"

Ed's eyes flicker as he winces. David touches his arm before he can stop himself. "Just-had to adjust it-for X-rays-" His teeth are digging into his lip.

"When are they giving you more painkillers?"

Miliband keeps his eyes closed. "Soon." His voice is laboured, and he bites his lip. "Something about an injection." He's shivering a little, and David is suddenly reminded of the day they won and he'd seen Miliband, arms wrapped around himself-

Before he can think about it, he's shrugging his suit off and moving to Miliband's side.

Perhaps Miliband's perception is knocked off by the pain but he doesn't move away until David tucks the jacket round his shoulders and then he jumps a little violently. _"Ow_ -what are you-"

"Well-" David can hear his voice becoming more clipped, almost defensive. "People-it's well known that it helps to keep warm when you've had a shock, Miliband-"

Miliband glares up at David. "I am w-warm-"

He shivers violently and David rolls his eyes, tucking the suit further around his shoulders. "Of course" he says, before Ed glares balefully up at him (though David notices he's gripping the edges of the suit and doesn't seem in any particular hurry to let go.)

Ed glares a little and then David hears himself say, in quite a different tone, "Did it hurt?"

Ed glances at him, confusion creeping into the gaze now and David clears his throat. "I mean-um-when you went for the X-ray? I just-" He clears his throat, unsure why he suddenly feels so awkward. "Remembered it can be rather painful."

Perhaps it's something to do with the way Ed's holding onto David's suit, clutching it closer now-almost like a comfort or a blanket, though David doubts Ed's even aware of what he's doing.

"Um-" Ed's avoiding his gaze. Out of a mixture of natural politeness and a strange knowledge that that is what Ed would prefer, David does the same thing.

"Yes" Ed says, after a few moments, in a voice that sounds as though it would like to be indifferent about the whole matter but can't quite manage it. "It hurt." He shoots a quick look at David, as though frightened he's given something away, and then adds "A bit."

David isn't sure why there's a strange wrench in his chest at the sound of those words but he reaches out before he can think twice about it.

He drops his arm before it can reach Ed. Their eyes meet for a brief moment before they both hastily look away.

David finds the words before he knows quite what they are.

"I'm sorry" he says quietly. Somehow, the words ache a little more than they should.

Ed looks at him slowly. David finds himself watching, pulled in by Ed's big dark eyes but more than anything by the way he's looking at him, as if he knows somehow that David's saying more than that-which is rather bizarre, since David himself wasn't aware of this and in fact, isn't aware of what he might be saying.

Ed falters for a moment, and almost trips over the words as he says "It's not your-" and then the nurse comes in, wielding a syringe and the words die between them.

*

It isn't until the nurse says the word "injection" that David feels-somehow, even though no part of them is touching-Ed tense and glances at him. Ed's looking away, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip and David feels something twist in his chest. Something like aching. Something like-

Like-

Well-

But the nurse has already got her hand out, giving Ed a quick reassuring pat on the arm and Ed's worrying at his lip and that's when David says "Could you-could you wait a moment?"

Ed glares at him, which David has almost come to expect, and he knows better than to ask him directly. So instead, fixing his gaze somewhere over Ed's shoulder, he says, as if commenting on the colour of the wall, "It's needles, isn't it?"

He can feel Ed glaring at him but the other man doesn't nod or shake his head. Instead, he raises one shoulder in what looks like half an awkward shrug, and then glowers at the bedclothes.

(David resists the temptation to point out Ed looks remarkably like a sulky toddler. He senses that this would Not Go Down Well.)

Instead, he nods, watches Ed for a moment, and then leans back in his chair. Then, he reaches out and, without looking at him, lets his fingers curl around Ed's wrist.

He hears the intake of breath, feels Ed tense sharply under his hand. He keeps his face carefully expressionless.

He waits.

Ed doesn't pull his hand away. Instead, he just takes in another sharp, wavering breath and says "C-Cameron-Cameron-"

His eyes are darting around the room at the nurses, who all tactfully avoid his gaze. Cameron feels a stab of gratitude to whoever briefed them.

Ed still hasn't pulled away.

David swallows. "This'll keep you still" he says, his mouth suddenly very dry and he prefers not to ponder why that might be. "It's-it's important when-"

"I've had injections before" Ed snaps out and then, almost immediately-"Sorry."

He looks at David for the first time and he _looks_ sorry, his eyes wider than usual, his face a little paler. David just looks at him and says "It's fine."

They look at each other a second longer and when David says "Do you want me to let go?" Ed just stares back at him, for a long moment, gaze suddenly more intense, before he says "It's fine."

It isn't until the nurse is pushing up the other man's sleeve that he feels Ed's fingers curl over his own and he squeezes gently.

Neither of them mentions the fact that their hands are now wrapped around one another.

*

Cameron has to take a call and Ed isn't relieved. Ed isn't relieved at all.

It's just that-Cameron's hand had been around his.

Cameron's hand.

Had been.

Around his.

It's not-that shouldn't-

But-

Cameron had taken his hand. _Cameron-_ Cameron had-

And that shouldn't mean anything at all.

He'd-Cameron had-

It isn't that Ed hates injections. He's just-not always particularly at ease with them.

And then when Cameron's hand had taken his wrist-

Ed has no idea why he didn't pull away and then when-

It had been Cameron's voice. _"Do you want me to let go?"_ caught between them and Ed could have said yes. He could have but-

But Cameron hadn't had to take hold of his wrist. Cameron hadn't had to. That was the-the whole-

There'd been no _reason_ for Cameron to do it and that's the bit that confuses Ed the most.

In fact, there'd been no reason for Cameron to come along, but-

And-

It's all very confusing and by the time the nurse offers him something else for the pain, Ed's only too grateful to accept.

*

When David finally re-enters the hospital room, after a phone call with Bercow ("Tell George if I find out one person has photos of this, I'm holding him personally responsible" "Prime Minister, it is rather ironic that it is now _you_ arguing for regulation of the press") , it's to see Ed lying against the pillow with his eyes closed.

"He might be a little loopy" the nurse warns him, and David resists the urge to comment that that's hardly an unusual occurrence with Miliband. "So I have to warn you."

"I can cope with loopy." He can. Being Prime Minister entails coping with all manner of loopy. Also, bizarre, infuriating, bewildering, and sometimes downright nuts.

"Just so you know" the nurse says, as she leaves, "He shouldn't be left alone."

David registers this vaguely, and only as he stands at the foot of the bed, with his eyes still on Ed, does it occur to him to wonder just what she meant him to do about it.

Then again, a part of him already knows the answer.

He moves to sit next to the bed and watches Miliband for a few moments. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttering occasionally, and David decides to let him sleep.

He sits there, wondering rather weakly what to do with himself. His eyes stray back to Miliband's face again and then again.

It's not as though there's anything else much to look at. And he needs to keep an eye on Miliband.

He snatches little glances over and over. Like when he was a child, stealing one sweet at a time from the jar.

Miliband's eyelashes are dark and long against his cheeks. Something could get lost in those eyelashes, David thinks. It'd be too easy to get lost.

Miliband's fingers are long, one of his hands ghosting near the edge of the bed. They're so long and usually, they're moving so _fast-_ generally, being waved or jabbed or pointed over an objection or an insult or a contradiction. They're like a constant blur of indignation.

Now, they're still. David measures the sheer length of them with his eyes. It's strange being able to look at them so still.

It's strange being able to look at _Miliband-_

Maybe that's how it is when you're constantly arguing with someone. You look at them so quickly, taking in little glimpses of them. You don't _let_ yourself look at them for any longer than you have to.

(Though, sometimes, you end up looking anyway.)

So when you're able to, it's sometimes as though you _haven't_ really looked at them before.

God, Miliband's fingers are long.

David's musings are interrupted by Miliband's eyes flickering suddenly, and he drags the chair a little closer to the bed. "Hello" he says quietly. "How was the rest, Miliband?"

Miliband's eyes flicker again, a little glassy. David wonders briefly if he's actually awake or if he's about to slip back into sleep.

For a moment, he suspects the latter as Miliband's eyes flutter closed again and his head turns to the other side, as if drifting off. David watches for a few moments and then suddenly Miliband laughs, quietly.

David blinks. "Ah-Miliband-"

Miliband's shoulders shake a little and then he rolls over to face David. He's laughing still, a little, as his eyes flicker open, still glazed but with a small smile playing around his mouth.

David frowns. "Miliband-"

Miliband laughs again and says "Shoes."

David blinks. "What?"

"Shoe. On the other foot. It's a _th-saying,_ Prime Minister." Ed laughs louder, his head tilting back against the pillow. "A th-saying. It means-" He snorts, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "It means, that now you know how it feels-not to ask questions."

"Not to ask-do you mean, _answer_ questions?"

"Don't tell me what I mean" Ed mutters, but with a smile, and then "I mean-I mean, I _know_ what I mean."

David stares at him and then starts to smirk. "Wait-"

"I mean-I know what I mean-because usually, it's _you_ -not-not answering questions. Not answering-answers."

David bites his lip and looks away to compose himself. "I see" he says, speaking half to himself. "When the nurse said loopy-"

Ed laughs again, a little higher than normal.

_"You-"_ He points at David and jabs himself in the cheek. _"You_ aren't-popular on the NHS. You-you-you want to-" He trails off. "Private it, or something-"

David closes his eyes. "I don't want to-" He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."

"See, it _does_ matter. Or it should-it _should_ matter-" Ed laughs suddenly. "But to you it-"

He falls silent for a moment and then,

"That hurts-"

David opens his eyes to see him pointing forlornly at his ankle.

"It will." He moves a little closer to the bed and then to his surprise, Ed's arm knocks into his own as he tries to pull himself up.

"Justine's not here" he says and David stops, caught in what he should say or what he shouldn't.

"Justine's left" Ed says suddenly and he laughs again, louder. "We're-she's left. She's left. We're-we're getting a-a-div-one of those things-"

David swallows. "You told me."

Ed laughs and then suddenly, his face clears. "Yes." Then his head falls back against the pillow. His eyes close for a moment.

Then, a moment later, "You're-"

He props himself up on one elbow, his eyes wandering for a moment before they find David's. "You're-I-you're not a terrible Prime Minister."

David's eyes widen. Ed slumps back onto the pillow. "I mean-you _can_ be terrible" he says, and David rolls his eyes. "But-you're not always-not _always_ terrible." He lifts a hand, squints at it as if not sure it's his own, then drops it again.

"Thanks, Miliband."

Miliband suddenly turns his head to aim a glare at him. "Shut up, Cameron. I mean-wait-"

He frowns and then turns round "What did I just say to you?"

David bites his lip. "Miliband" he says, keeping his voice careful and level. "I'm just going to ask the nurse a question. I'm going to ask her just what exactly she's given you because I'm rather worried you might have gone a little _insane."_

Ed blinks, and then puts on a face of careful consideration. "I don't _-think_ I am."

He then turns and stares at his pillow, placed carefully underneath his head. "What's-what's that doing there?"

David closes his eyes and ponders the exact definition of "loopy".

*

David has no idea how he manages to persuade Ed into the car. If Ed is usually annoyingly talkative, particularly when it comes to pointing out David's failings, now that he's been drugged up with painkillers, he's more than twice that.

Then again, it isn't just _David's_ failings he's willing to point out.

"They're going the wrong way."

"Miliband, he's my driver, he knows exactly where he's going-"

"But _you_ hired him-" Miliband tries to point at him accusingly and manages to jab David in the cheek instead.

"You hired him-" Miliband laughs suddenly. _"You_ hired Coulson and look how-just look how that-"

He laughs again and his head falls against David's shoulder. David hastily sits him upright again, Ed's hair tickling his cheek.

Ed's head falls back against the seat ."At least you're not-" He tugs at his tie and then frowns at it.

"At least you're not-riding a _bike."_ Ed stares at his tie, and wraps the end of it curiously around his hand. David takes it and carefully untwists the material as Ed stares out of the window.

"Like Boris." Ed's face dissolves into giggles and he leans back against the seat before he shushes himself. "See, Boris-if it had been _Boris,_ we'd have been on a bike-" He leans his head on his hand, his shoulders shaking so hard David has to turn away so he doesn't burst out laughing too. "Or-or Jeremy."

"If it was Jeremy-" David frowns. "If it was Jeremy, he'd probably have tried applying some sort of herbal poultice-"

He expects a furious rebuttal but instead, Miliband sits up straight, glares at him and manages "That's not _fair"_ before he suddenly, for no apparent reason, collapses in giggles again.

David has never been more thankful for the fact the windows are blacked-out.

*

Ironically, now that Miliband seems to be in less pain when he walks, he's leaning on David more than ever.

"Sorry-"

He doesn't look sorry. He looks ridiculously amused, proud, hyper, and annoyingly gleeful but he certainly doesn't look sorry.

"I do have to tell you, Miliband-" David grips his arm, carefully holding him upright and taking the keys from him as Miliband nearly drops them through the letterbox. "I will be reminding you of all this later-"

Miliband just giggles ridiculously. Something about the way his eyes light up as he beams at David is almost mischievous and David feels a sharp pang of something that makes him smile and quickly focuses his attention on the door to distract himself.

Once he gets Miliband inside, Miliband staggers towards the stairs and then clutches the banister. _"Ow-"_

"Yes, _ow._ You sprained your ankle, Miliband."

"I know that." Miliband scowls all of a sudden, his eyes a little too bright. "I know that-I'm not _stupid,_ Prime Minister."

"I never said you were, Miliband."

"You impied _-implied_ it, Prime Minister."

"Is there a reason you keep calling me Prime Minister?"

David takes Miliband's arm and steers him towards the living room, the location of which he remembers vaguely from previous visits to Miliband's home, deciding that the stairs may be a little too much of a hurdle for Miliband in his present condition.

"Yes." Miliband stops and spins round on his good foot to face David, with the air of one fully intending to make a vital and potentially lengthy point.

David sighs, folds his arms and waits.

Miliband opens his mouth, frowns, looks down at himself and then back at David again. "No."

David nods. "Right."

Miliband grabs David's arm again and suddenly just slumps. Onto David, like a shawl intent on draping itself over his arms.

"I'm-it hurts" he says, his voice dwindling to a thin whine. "It hurts and-and I need to work."

"No, you don't-"

The benefit of Miliband being in this state is that it is all too easy for David to take charge. He grips his arm and carefully steers him to the couch, persuading him into a sitting position with little difficulty.

"At the moment, Miliband, you can barely form a coherent sentence, let alone draft a report or ride the tube or whatever else you were thinking of doing with your afternoon-or what I was doing with mine" he adds, because somehow, he's just accepted that he's the one looking after Miliband for the afternoon. He can't remember either of them ever actually mentioning it but somehow, it had just felt like an accepted fact from the moment that the nurse had said Miliband would need someone to stay with him and Miliband had announced from the hospital bed that he would be perfectly _capable_ of driving himself home until David had gently reminded him he hadn't driven himself _there._

"It's not entirely easy for the Prime Minister to take time off, Miliband" he adds, as he tries to push Miliband's head back down onto a cushion. "You should be flattered."

Miliband snorts disbelievingly and then suddenly catches his sleeve. "I can go to work."

"No, you can't."

Miliband glares at him. "I am perfectly capably _capable_ of going to work."

"No, you're not."

Miliband sits upright. "I'll go on my own, then."

"No, you won't." David grabs hold of his shoulder and holds him where he is. Miliband doesn't try to move again, though he glares at David, pushing his lip out like a child.

"Why not?"

"Because-" David lowers his voice the way he does when he's arguing a point with Florence when she feels petulant about bedtime. "Firstly, you'd barely get down the path before your ankle gave out from under you. Secondly, I've got a protection team outside who wouldn't let you go anywhere. And third, I've already given up my whole afternoon to deal with this, and I do not feel like giving up an evening-"

He guides Miliband further down by the arm.

"A night-"

He holds both Miliband's shoulders. Miliband doesn't protest, though he keeps glaring up at him.

"And-quite conceivably, in your case-a morning, because you've managed to stumble out of that front door and injure yourself even further."

Miliband glares up at him again and then turns his face away. "It's your fault."

David sighs, wondering if there's anywhere that Miliband keeps blankets. "How on earth is this my fault?"

"If you weren't so-incorrinable-"

"Incorrigible-"

"Stop correcting me, I know what _you_ know-what I mean." David slides a cushion under Miliband's head and Miliband glowers up at him.

David arches an eyebrow. "Well?"

Miliband frowns, and then shakes his head. "I've forgotten."

David snorts. "Of course you have."

Miliband glares. "I don't forget things" he declares which makes David snort again because any other time, he'd remind Miliband of the deficit but in this case, he has a little more sympathy.

"I hope you're joking" he mutters instead and Miliband tries to jab his shoulder.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he demands, which is slightly undermined by the fact he's propped himself up on his elbows, can't hold David's gaze and a moment later, eyes wandering to the ceiling, dissolves into a grin again at some private thought.

David bends down and Ed's eyes flicker. "The nurse said you'd be sleepy" he mutters, already anticipating Ed's reply. "I'm not."

Ed yawns then and stretches, brow crumpling as though confused by his own exhaustion. David watches him with a feeling of complete exasperation that's shot through with a strange urge to ruffle his hair.

He blinks, but Miliband's already leaning back. David sighs and adjusts the cushion a little. Miliband's eyes look heavy and David doubts he'll get him up the stairs.

"Miliband" he says, voice softer now, in the hope he'll get through to Ed before he falls asleep. "Is there a duvet or blanket anywhere I could get for you?"

Ed squints at him. David sighs. "Duvet. Or blanket."

Ed rolls a little, then winces. "Upstairs. Bed. Bedroom."

"All right." David leans over him, touches his shoulder. "I'll be back in a moment."

It's then that Ed reaches up, finger poking David's cheek. "You've got blue eyes."

His voice is quiet, matter-of-fact, as if he's just pointing it out. David swallows, looks back at him.

"Thank you" he says, as if Miliband's given him a compliment. But Miliband just looks back and nods once, before he turns his head to the side, his eyes flickering.

David's hand brushes Miliband's cheek as he pulls himself up but that's mostly an accident.

*

It takes him a couple of tries to find Miliband's bedroom-one try brings him into what is obviously one of his son's rooms, and he immediately closes the door again at the sight of the toys and small duvet, with the feeling that he is intruding into the safety of a childhood world. He then thinks of what Miliband has told him and wonders if that childhood world feels so safe these days.

When he finds Miliband's bedroom, his heart twitches a little at the sight of the bed that had obviously only had one side slept in and he gathers the duvet up quickly. He ends up half-dragging it down the stairs and nearly falling over himself which is something Miliband would probably have never let him forget.

When he reaches the living room, he sees that Miliband's drifting into sleep, and he hesitates. Then, slowly, he bundles the duvet up on one corner of the sofa and then bends down and slides a hand under Miliband's head, lifting it up.

Miliband makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. "What are you-"

"Here-" David props his head up, as Miliband struggles to pull himself up with one hand and then hesitates. "Here-take your suit off-"

"Oh-"

It says something about how tired Miliband must be, David reflects, that he immediately does as he's told without the usual jibe. Though he does dissolve into another weak giggle as he pulls off the suit and then struggles with his tie.

"Here-" David says after a few moments of watching Miliband struggle with it rather pitifully and Miliband bats at his hands a few times before clearly seeing sense and letting David go ahead and unfasten it. His hand brushes Miliband's chin this time and he looks away quickly, letting the tie drop on the table.

"Now-" He reaches for Ed's shoe and that's when Ed says "I can do it _myself,_ Cameron-"

David arches an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Try."

Ed glares at him, as he pushes himself up off the couch and immediately falls back.

"Exactly." David pulls off the one shoe Ed's wearing and then stares at his foot, which is currently swathed in bandages.

"You're meant to be-" Ed snaps his fingers or tries to, and narrowly misses hitting his own nose. "Gracious. You're meant to be _gracious_ in victory-"

"It's hardly _victory,_ Miliband-"

Miliband glowers up at him from the couch. "You're-"

He doesn't say anything else. He just glares, then turns on his side, wincing and staring at the wall.

"And I thought I wasn't a terrible Prime Minister" David mutters, picking up the duvet and throwing it rather haphazardly over Miliband who hardly looks up to moving. He sinks down on the other couch and Miliband turns to look at him.

"You're still here" he says stupidly.

David arches an eyebrow. "Yes, well" he says, reaching for his briefcase. "You can't be left on your own. And, although I'm sure you'll be completely ungrateful about it and will refuse to stop complaining about it for at least three months when you wake up, I don't want your death on my hands, Miliband. So, I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

Usually, Miliband would come out with something along the lines of "Like the country" but today, he just stares at David for a minute, all dark eyes and messy hair, and then sinks back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling and clutching at the top of the duvet like a child.

David just flops back and reads through a report, after a few minutes shrugging off his own suit. It's only then that he thinks to glance over and say-feeling rather odd about offering things to Miliband in his own home-

(Well)

(Part-time home, these days, anyway)

"Do you need anything? A drink? Anything?"

There's silence and when David gets up, unable to ascertain or if it's the drugs or if Miliband has just sunk into a toddler-worthy strop (and neither of which would surprise him), he sees that Miliband's eyes are closed. He's breathing a little more deeply, and David rolls his eyes, relieved.

He stands there for another moment, and then touches Miliband's head quietly. He tells himself it's just to feel his temperature.

(Because temperatures can go up for all sorts of reasons. Probably.)

(He tells himself, anyway. And really tries to believe it.)

Miliband's skin is warm and smooth. He doesn't flinch when David touches him. He holds his hand there for a few moments and then pulls back because he doesn't need to linger any longer and not because of the confusion that rises sharply in his chest when his finger brushes Miliband's hair.

It's when he's been sitting on the couch a few more minutes that he hears "Cameron."

Miliband isn't looking at him. He's looking away but David can see that his eyes are open. He watches them blink, rapidly, eyelashes almost trapping the words.

He watches but doesn't say anything, and when Miliband says "I meant it, all right" and then closes his eyes again, David can't decide what he was referring to or if he was referring to anything at all.

It's only once Miliband is breathing deeply again and his eyes are closed that David realises that Miliband must have felt him stroking his forehead and he doesn't know how he feels about that.

(Or how he feels about the word _stroking.)_

*

It's when Miliband's been asleep for about an hour that David rings Sam, who advises him on tea (advice he'll take if Miliband ever wakes up) and also asks "Where's Justine?"

David opens his mouth. Then closes it again. Then opens it.

He should say "Tell Frances."

"Tell Frances to tell her."

He should _want_ to say "Tell Frances."

But then he thinks of the way Miliband had dragged his gaze away back in the waiting room.

He thinks of that one side of the bed, not slept in.

(One side will always not be slept in, now he thinks of it.)

"I think she's away" he says and Sam believes him.

He doesn't tell her. Just says he might have to stay and Sam laughs, like she knows something he doesn't.

(But then, Sam always says she knows something he doesn't. "It's called marriage, Dave.")

But this time-

"I can't just leave him" he says, and it's the same way he couldn't just leave him without a coat or without a defence or without-

Without a lot of things.

There's a lot of _couldn't just_ with Miliband.

It's only when he goes back into the living room, with Sam's laughter still ringing in his ears, that he sees Miliband's eyes are open and he's watching him from under the duvet.

David stops and watches him back.

"You didn't tell her" Miliband says quietly.

David raises an eyebrow. "No."

Miliband just tilts his head then and stares at him for a long moment. David stares back, with almost no idea what expression he's wearing.

Then, suddenly, Ed turns his head to the side. "Thanks" is all he says, but there's something in the tone that makes David open his mouth, about to ask Ed something

(though he still isn't entirely sure what)

(if anything)

but then Ed closes his eyes again and David just watches him sink back into a restless sleep, the duvet balled between his fists and clutched tightly to his chest like a child's teddy bear.

He supposes that at least Ed's past the giddy stage of the medication or at least that's what he's telling himself right before Ed mutters "And you're not a terrible Prime Minister. That's what Balls said. But he didn't know about baseball."

David rolls his eyes. "Go back to sleep."

Ed mutters something which sounds suspiciously like _"You_ go back to sleep" but apparently does so. And leaves David sitting on the couch wondering how on earth this has become his life and what exactly he's meant to do about it and why exactly he hasn't told Sam about Ed splitting up with his wife and why exactly that should mean anything at all.

(There's a lot to wonder.)

(But sometimes, it's just easier to look at Ed on the couch and wonder quite how and if he's going to be OK.)

(And not just with his ankle.)

*

When Ed next opens his eyes, his head spins for a moment and then aches, and he groans. His eyes feel sore and gritty. His ankle throbs.

He tries to stretch and groans again, managing to roll over onto his back. He ends up looking at the living room ceiling, and wondering just how he got-

He turns his head and nearly chokes at the sight of Cameron crouching down next to him. "Good sleep, Miliband?"

Ed's hand slams over his chest. "Are you trying to kill me, Cameron?"

Cameron arches an eyebrow. "Well, I know you hate ill-thought-out answers-"

He grins as Ed rolls his eyes. "No."

Ed tries to come up with a clever retort but his head swims and he falls back onto the couch and Cameron's hand lodges itself on his shoulder. He doesn't have the strength to push it away.

"How are you feeling?" Cameron asks and Ed's eyes close. Only now does it occur to him to ask "What are we doing here?"

There's a pause and then Cameron's hand brushes his forehead. Ed's eyes are heavy and it's only after a moment that he realises what Cameron's doing and forces them open. "Um-"

Cameron pulls back as if he's been burnt. "Ah. Sorry. Just checking-"

"No, no, it's um-" Ed closes his eyes and opens them again, as if that might clear his head. "How-um-"

Cameron's lip twitches in the usual easy grin, and it's only now that Ed notices it had faded for a moment. "Ankle. Hurt. PMQs. Jogging your memory?"

"Mm-yeah-" He remembers that."But how-"

He glances at Cameron with sudden suspicion. "How did-"

Cameron chews his lip and looks away. "They-er-gave you some rather strong medication at the hospital."

Ed frowns-and then it dawns on him.

"Oh-" He closes his eyes, waiting for the horror to hit him but it doesn't. Maybe it's still seeping through the haze.

Cameron looks suspiciously as if he's trying not to laugh. "You were-well-" He clears his throat. "It was rather strong medication."

Ed squints at him, his thoughts coming more slowly than usual. "You mean-it knocked me out-"

Cameron bites his lip and looks away, apparently composing himself. "Not exactly-not just that."

Ed stares at him. "So what else-" He sits up suddenly, and then cries out at the pain in his ankle.

_"Careful."_ Cameron glares at him suddenly and then softens his tone. "You'll probably need to take some of the painkillers now."

"Painkillers-" Ed glowers at him, then. "Don't _distract_ me. It didn't work when I was-" He breaks off suddenly, and Cameron swallows.

"It's not going to work now."

Cameron looks back at him for a few moments and then, suddenly bending down to readjust his duvet, announces "You were on a little bit of a trip."

He pulls the duvet further over Ed. "To put it lightly."

Ed stares at Cameron for a moment. Cameron grins at him. "The compliments were a rather pleasant side effect, though."

_Then_ the horror hits him.

"Oh-" He leans his head on one hand, his hair brushing the back of the couch. "Oh God. What did I-what did I th-say-"

Cameron appears to be struggling to suppress a smile. "Well."

He coughs, picks up Ed's tie (which somehow seems to have fallen on the floor.) "You were rather judgemental about the route my driver took to your house."

Ed closes his eyes.

"You had rather a few opinions on your current leader's liking for broccoli and bikes."

"Oh God."

"You were very insistent you could go to work. You argued with me about it then forgot what you were talking about mid-sentence."

"Oh God."

"You also told the nurse you knew all the words to Matilda: The Musical and then proceeded to sing a few lines of what sounded rather like "How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?""

Ed buries his face in his hands. He can't say "Oh God" again.

Instead, he just settles for "Fuck."

"Quite." Cameron pats the cushion down under Ed's hair. "Which is when she told me again you were not to be left alone. By this point, you were closely examining your phone and then announced you couldn't remember the pass code. Then you asked if I knew it. I said no, and you started what I believe was a joke about Theresa but you were laughing so hard you couldn't finish it."

There seems very little appropriate response to this other than to say "Fuck" again. Ed does so, promptly.

"I couldn't agree more." Cameron picks up a glass and hands it to him. "Here. The nurse said to take these-" He holds up the packet of painkillers. "With water."

Ed is rather busy trying not to regret his own existence but does manage to stare at the water and ask "Where did this come from?"

"I-well." Cameron coughs and begins tidying the duvet rather ostentatiously, keeping his eyes away from Ed's. "I got it for you. Thought you might be thirsty when you woke up."

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it again. "Ah." He stares at the glass for a moment as if it might hold the answer, and then says, a little too quickly, "Thanks."

David shakes two pills out of the packet and into Ed's hand.

"You also" he says, as if the thought's only just occurred as Ed tips the pills into his mouth. "Said I was a good Prime Minister."

Ed almost chokes on the pills. David helpfully bangs him on the back as Ed splutters and narrowly avoids coughing them into his hand. "I-I-"

"Swallow first" David suggests helpfully, which Ed has little option but to do.

Once the pills are swallowed, he stares up at Cameron who seems to be trying to stare back impassively, though his eyes are suspiciously overbright.

"I-um-I said-" He has no idea why his cheeks are suddenly too warm and he scowls to make up for it, forcing himself to meet Cameron's eyes. "That medication must have been strong then."

It's weaker than usual but Cameron's eyes flicker for a moment which is when Ed realises that he has just taken the opportunity to insult the same person who has just sat with him for however long he's been asleep and accompanied him home from a hospital whilst Ed apparently insulted everyone he came into contact with from well-meaning nurses to bicycling bearded leaders.

He opens his mouth but Cameron's already grinning again. "Well. You may have said "not a _terrible_ Prime Minister." But I'm good at interpreting data-"

Ed snorts. "I'm aware."

He takes another gulp of water. Cameron stares at his ankle. "How's it feel?"

Ed shrugs. "Aching. Sore. Any other th-synonyms for pain, you can think of, Cameron."

Cameron winces. "God. Must be awful."

Ed nods miserably, content for the moment to feel sorry for himself and Cameron says "Do you want anything to eat? Cup of tea, biscuits-I don't know, cuddle blanket? It's your home-"

Ed snorts again. "Part-time home." This helps the misery considerably.

Cameron sighs and kneels down beside him and something about the words and the gesture jog Ed's memory through the haze of confusion.

"You didn't tell her" he says and he suddenly has the sense that he's said that before.

"Who?"

"Sam-"

Cameron meets his eyes. "You remember."

Ed just looks back at him.

Cameron holds his gaze. "No, I didn't."

It's not a shock. Maybe a part of him did remember, somehow. Maybe a part of him just suspected Cameron wouldn't.

But he watches Cameron a second longer and then his eyes wander up to the light which at some point, Cameron must have switched on.

"It's-" He turns to the windows. "Dark. Outside."

"Yes." Cameron follows his gaze mildly. "It got dark about an hour ago. That's what happens with the passage of time, Miliband-"

"Hilarious." He can't summon up a better retort and to comfort himself, wraps his arms around his knees.

"You didn't answer my question."

Ed almost snorts at the irony.

"Would you like anything?"

Ed tries to glare at the duvet but can't summon up the energy. His limbs feel heavy, his ankle's throbbing and he wants to put his head down and sleep. But hunger's gnawing in his stomach and after a moment, he manages "Yes. Please."

"What is there?"

Ed wracks his brains. "Um. Jaffa Cakes."

Cameron laughs, but something about the sound's quiet, almost gentle. "And tea?"

Ed manages a smile. "Yeah. Please."

Cameron grins at him and then pops his head back round the door. "And which kitchen should I fetch them from-"

Ed picks up a cushion and aims it at him and Cameron ducks out, still laughing.

Ed tells himself he's not grinning.

*

Cameron sits on the floor, which alone shocks Ed. But he sits there, clutching a cup of tea between his hands and true to his word, has brought in two packets of Jaffa Cakes, which Ed tucks into happily.

Cameron watches him for a moment and then looks away, smiling.

"What?" Ed manages, through a mouthful of delicious chocolatey orangeness. "What is it?"

Cameron looks back at him, the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Nothing. Just-I remembered, you like them."

Ed always has liked Jaffa Cakes. He remembers all too well meetings with Cameron in which there'd be a plate of biscuits and there'd be several Jaffa Cakes laid out. Ed would torture himself trying not to take them all until Cameron offhandedly mentioned that he'd never liked Jaffa Cakes particularly and Ed'd be doing him a favour if he ate them.

"Mm." He takes another bite, watches as Cameron bites into one himself. "You don't have to eat them" he says hurriedly. "I mean-I know you don't like them, either-"

Cameron meets his eyes with a grin. "When did I say that?"

Ed frowns. "When you said I could-"

Cameron still grins and it clicks.

Ed ducks his head, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to do that" Cameron says and Ed's eyes flicker back to his. They stare at each other for a moment and then Cameron looks away a little more quickly than usual.

"I hadn't had these in ages." Justine had always refused to buy Jaffa Cakes, saying it was just more junk for the kids, though it had fallen to their nanny to do most of the shopping anyway.

"There were four packets in that cupboard" David points out and Ed winces. Getting used to doing the shopping himself has been a bit of a challenge.

David grins at him, and then dunks his own Jaffa Cake, without warning, in his own cup of tea. Ed wrinkles his nose. "That's disgusting, Cameron."

Cameron laughs and bites into it. Ed rolls his eyes, chewing on his fifth Jaffa Cake, feeling a little brighter, though that could just be the medication starting to work.

He thinks it might be the medication that causes him to look again out of the window and then swiftly back at Cameron as he says "Cameron, it's dark."

Cameron darts an amused look up at him. "I know. You said."

"No, but-" Ed swallows, stares at Cameron over the rim of his mug. "Don't you have-I mean, aren't I keeping you-"

For the first time, Cameron looks a shade uncomfortable. Ed frowns. "What is it?"

"Well-" Cameron drags himself up onto the arm of the couch, brushing the crumbs off his knees. "There's-ah-an issue."

"Fantastic." An issue is never anything good. "What's the issue?"

"Well-" Cameron cradles his mug between his hands. "You can't be left on your own for the night. Standard policy."

Ed tilts his head back against the arm of the couch and groans.

"I did-well, I did try to contact a few people, while you were having a nap-"

"I wasn't _having a nap-"_ The phrase itself sounds inherently childish.

Cameron dismisses this point with a wave of the hand. "Fine, while you were having a well-earned rest. While you were refilling your body's energy tank-"

"Your body's _energy tank-"_

"The point being" says Cameron loudly, talking over him "That I tried calling a few people, who know some of your-" He shrugs. "Circle. And while a lot of people were greatly concerned, there weren't many who could drop everything at a moment's notice."

Ed barely registers this. Instead, he's suddenly gripping the edge of his duvet. "You-um-" He clears his throat, hoping he sounds casual. "You didn't call Justine, did you?"

Cameron holds his gaze only a fraction of a second longer than usual. "No" he says, with a small shrug as though Ed's asked him nothing more unusual than if he happened to get a new tie. "I mean, some of my aides called around a few people but not her. But-um-well-"

Ed's distracted from thoughts of the state of his relationship (or not-relationship, these days) by the fact Cameron's got the same look on his face he used to have whenever he was about to inform Ed they had a disaster on their hands.

"What?" he asks, praying Cameron hasn't called New York.

"Well-" Cameron takes in a breath. "The fact is-I'm already here."

He waits, apparently for this news to sink in.

"Oh" Ed says stupidly.

Then "Oh."

Then "Wait-wait, so-"

"Yes." Cameron looks a little more relieved now that Ed appears to have picked up the message. "I know it's not ideal, but-ah-I do happen to be here-"

"No-I mean-not no, but-" Ed's brain's scrambling to make sense of what exactly he's just been told. "So-you're saying-you'll-stay. Here."

"Yes." Cameron meets his gaze, despite the flush of colour in his cheeks. "That is-if you want me to."

Ed opens his mouth but Cameron's already talking again. "Well-actually, you don't have much of a choice. You can't be left alone and I'm here. So, I suppose that's redundant, really. But all the same, it would be rather more enjoyable if you're able to tolerate my company, Miliband."

Cameron gives him the grin. Ed feels a complicated mixture of amusement, indignation, irritation and bewilderment, all tugging in his chest at once and all sentiments he feels worryingly often around Cameron.

"I-er-" It may be the medication but it's only after he's been staring at Cameron for a few moments in silence that he realises how rude he must be appearing.

"Oh. Um. Thank you." That's all he says, as if Cameron's offered him a cup of tea.

"Don't be overenthusiastic, Miliband."

"Sorry." He blinks, then shakes his head. "Um-th-sorry." He chews his lip. "I mean-thanks, that-"

Cameron laughs. "It's all right, you know. I mean, it _is_ your house-"

"No, it-" Ed swallows. "It's-good of you."

It is, he realises. Cameron hasn't had to give up his evening. In fact, Ed realises, he could probably easily have got hold of someone else to stay the night.

But Cameron's....offered to do it.

He realises he's still staring at Cameron and looks away quickly, cursing himself as he feels the heat rise to his face.

"But-what about-Sam and-"

Cameron arches an eyebrow. "She already knows. She was-in fact, she was pretty insistent."

"Ah." Ed folds his hands over each other, glances at Cameron, then looks away. "That's um-"

He can't actually think of anything else to say other than "Thanks."

Cameron coughs and then takes another bite of Jaffa Cake. Ed quickly follows suit, grateful for the excuse to be silent.

Cameron appears to be examining his mug of tea very carefully. "Um-Ed-" He appears to be keeping his voice carefully casual and Ed narrows his eyes, clutching his own mug of tea.

"I-well-" Cameron takes a careful sip of his own drink. "Are you sure you don't want Justine to know?"

"No." Cameron's barely finished the sentence before Ed gives his own decisive answer. He takes another bite of Jaffa Cake, prohibiting being asked for an explanation for at least a few moments.

Cameron doesn't look particularly surprised but Ed avoids his gaze though he can feel Cameron's eyes resting on him.

"Can I ask you why?"

Ed chews as slowly as he possibly can, keeping his eyes on the mug. He nibbles at his lip, and tugs at the duvet.

He keeps his eyes away from Cameron's as he says "I-um-I just don't want-"

He picks up another Jaffa Cake but doesn't bite into it. Instead, he presses his thumb into the chocolate icing, the biscuit crumbling a little.

Cameron's hand catches his. "Careful. Don't break it." He saves the Jaffa Cake with his other hand, then carefully puts it back on the plate and brushes the crumbs off Ed's hands. Ed blinks, unsure whether to stop him and unsure whether he wants to.

Cameron's hand brushes his own again as it falls. Ed speaks a little more loudly than usual, his heartbeat a little more rapid.

"I just-" He doesn't know why he's saying it, staring at the Jaffa Cake mournfully. "I don't see the point. She'd just-" He clears his throat. "I don't want her to feel-obliged to-"

Cameron stares at him. "But-surely she'd want to-"

Ed shakes his head. "I don't want her to know" he manages, the words snapping out a little louder than usual.

Cameron is, uncharacteristically, silent for a moment. Then he says, "Can I ask you something?"

Ed shrugs. "You just did."

Cameron rolls his eyes. "How long have the two of you been-ah-"

Ed snorts. " A few months."

"Right."

Another pause during which Ed chews reflectively on a Jaffa Cake.

"The thing is-ah-" Cameron leans back against the couch and stares up at him. "Can I ask-what-ah-prompted this-"

Ed snorts again and Cameron shoots him a worried look. Ed doesn't meet his eyes.

"A lot of things."

It had been a lot of things. Work.

(Both their work.)

And children. Children who he saw a few glimpses of at weekends and in early mornings, who turned away from him a little too often and from Justine even more.

It had been constantly reaching for something that wasn't there any more and being unable to quite remember if it ever had been.

He can't quite say it to Cameron, even when he tries, and so he just says "It's...complicated."

Cameron nods and Ed feels bad somehow, as if he's let him down.

"It's not that I don't want to talk about it-it's just-"

He swallows the last mouthful of Jaffa Cake, and tips his head back against the arm of the couch. His head is spinning.

"It's that-there's too much to talk about." His eyes feel heavier even mentioning it and it's a moment later that he feels Cameron's hand on his arm.

His eyes stay closed for a few moments, Cameron's hand rubbing his wrist. His thoughts drift and it seems to take a little while for the meaning to hit him.

Cameron's hand. Is on his wrist.

Cameron's holding his wrist.

He doesn't pull away. Instead, he lies there, still, while Cameron's thumb brushes his skin. Cameron's fingers are warm through the material of his shirt.

His eyes open for a moment to find Cameron's on him. They watch each other for a moment. Cameron's thumb still lingers on his wristbone.

Then Cameron's eyes suddenly dart away and he lets go quickly. Ed swallows hard, his pulse suddenly rapid.

"Um-" For once, Cameron seems a little lost for words. Ed can't even enjoy the sight thoroughly. He lies back against the cushions, too caught up in the frantic murmur of what on earth just happened.

"There's-um-a couple of spare rooms" he blurts out, fixing his eyes on the ceiling as though it's the most fascinating thing he's ever had the fortune to behold. "I mean-if you-if you want to-"

He catches the look on Cameron's face before he can even finish the sentence and lets his eyes fall closed again for a moment. "What?"

"Ah. Well-" Cameron tries to give him the Cameron-grin. Even as tired as he is, Ed manages to arch an eyebrow. The Cameron-grin doesn't fool him.

"The thing is-the hospital had another recommendation."

Cameron's been speaking for less than eight words and already Ed doesn't like the sound of it.

"With-ah-sleeping arrangements."

Ed groans. Because he knows. Because Cameron wouldn't be grinning like that for no reason and all it took were the words "sleeping arrangements" and Ed knows.

"I can't be on my own, can I?" It isn't really a question.

Cameron grins. Ed glares.

"Sorry" offers Cameron, by way of apology and Ed just buries his face in a cushion.

"I hate that you're so terrible at PMQs" he mutters.

*

It probably sounds bad to say David is grateful for the painkillers wiping Ed out but on this occasion, he finds it _is_ rather a relief.

The truth is, that once it becomes clear he will have to spend the night here, it feels a little strange to dwindle into small talk.

Then again, this may simply be because he and Miliband have never needed to resort to small talk before. It's always been a little too easy to fall into conversation with Miliband, if anything.

Well.

Conversation that involves bickering, insults and occasionally outright shouting. (David tries not to think of these times as _childish_ and prefers to think of them as _heartfelt.)_

But still conversation.

But the fact he is staying the night in Miliband's house makes it seem rather rude to try to start an argument.

And the fact he essentially carried Miliband here makes it rather rude for _Miliband_ to try to start an argument.

Which is far more annoying than it should be.

He's decided to refrain from comment when Miliband starts yawning and knuckling at his eyes, simply because asking Miliband if he wants to go to bed seems both remarkably patronizing and strangely suggestive at the same time (and either way, would probably cause Samantha the height of hilarity, as indeed did the mere suggestion of him staying the night.)

So he chews another Jaffa Cake and does his best not to look at Miliband. But he's aware. He's aware of Miliband's hands curled into fists, knuckling his eyes in a way that's so remarkably childlike, David has to resist the urge to tell him to stop. He's aware-too aware-of the way Miliband's eyelashes flutter, his gaze drifting about. He has to stop himself snatching glimpses every few seconds.

It's Miliband who breaks the silence when he turns on the 24-hour news and David sees a tension seep into his shoulders, lip catching itself between his teeth. He glances to the screen, takes in the sudden set of Miliband's back, the way his knuckles whiten for a moment on the arm of the chair.

When a few headlines have passed, Miliband's shoulders relax a little and he swallows. David lets a few moments pass in silence, and then says "We did make sure nobody saw."

Miliband's head snaps round, colour creeping up his cheeks. "I-I know-" he says a little too quickly.

David nods, deliberately casually, even as Miliband says "I wasn't..concerned."

"Good" David says, pretending not to notice the flush that has made its' way up Miliband's cheeks though he turns when he notices the way Miliband's clearly struggling to suppress a yawn.

"Are you-ah-" His words, which usually come so easily, are tripping him up-though he's not usually using those words to ask Miliband if he's sure it's not time he went to bed.

Miliband gives him a look from under his eyelashes which could be annoyed or amused or some strange mixture of the two. David looks back, and for a moment their gazes linger on each other.

Then, as suddenly as it happened, Miliband looks away. "I think I need to go to bed" he says, his voice a tad lower than usual.

He tries to stand up, and consequently nearly falls over.

"Hey-" David's moving before he's even thought about it, slipping an arm through Miliband's. Miliband grabs him automatically, before he sinks back onto the couch, pulling David with him.

David's face is pushed into his shoulder for a moment, the material over his mouth and nose and he jerks back at the same time Miliband does so that they almost bump heads. "Sorry-" falls out of both their mouths at once, and David tries for a laugh.

"You should be" he says, which isn't nearly his best and both he and Miliband know it.

(The fact _Miliband_ knows it should be a lot more irritating than it is.)

Miliband doesn't lean back and David isn't going to be the first to. And it seems entirely stupid to just sit here like this so somehow one hand ends up on Miliband's shoulder.

"Maybe you shouldn't try to get up-"

He then becomes aware he's a little too close to Miliband and leans back, trying to ignore the way Miliband's eyes flicker to his own, so quickly he's almost sure Miliband himself doesn't notice.

He makes his tone crisp, business-like, so he doesn't have to think about that. "You need to be careful. If you overuse that ankle, it'll just make it worse."

Miliband raises an eyebrow. "Thank you for that explanation-"

David arches his own. Miliband sighs and looks away.

"Sorry" he says, after a moment, and David says, by way of acceptance, "I have a suggestion."

Miliband tilts his head to the side questioningly. David sighs.

"It's not one you might be receptive to."

The questioning look slides from Miliband's face to be replaced by suspicion but David's already wondering if his arms will hold out again.

This time, Miliband squawks indignantly when he's lifted into the air but he doesn't sound as shocked.

"Cameron-"

"Well, you have to admit, Miliband-" David heads for the door, wincing as Miliband's nails catch his neck as he automatically scrabbles for purchase."It _is_ rather an efficient way of getting you around."

Miliband half-snarls something as David reaches the stairs and the very sight makes David bite his lip as he struggles not to burst out laughing. (Miliband might accuse him of being out of touch but he's all too aware that dissolving in mirth at the sight of Miliband clinging onto him wearing an expression remarkably similar to that of an angry squirrel might not improve his former chief opponent's mood.)

"What was that?"

"I _th-said-"_ Miliband blushes furiously at the lisp and David almost stops dead at the bizarrely strong pang of affection that aches in his chest. "It's not _practical."_

"What, having me carry you about?" David's suddenly profoundly grateful that Miliband sent him up here earlier-he senses it would be even more awkward having Miliband guide him around.

"Still-" He pushes Miliband's door open with his hip. "You seem to think I'm doing a terrible job as Prime Minister. Maybe this counts as the creation of a new job opportunity-"

Miliband makes a sound suspiciously like a snort as David lowers him to the mattress, but manages to compose himself sufficiently to attempt a scowl by the time David stands up, breathing a little heavily.

"Deluding yourself with the figures again?"

"I'll delude you in a moment" David says, which makes no sense but he feels like it.

Ed drags himself to the edge of the mattress, and David shifts awkwardly. "I'll-ah-wait outside-" he says, before he makes himself add "Unless you need any help getting-"

"No" Ed snaps out before he even gets to the end of the sentence and then, more softly, "I'm fine, thanks."

David, for once, doesn't hold it against him. He's happy to carry Miliband up the stairs as many times as he wants but he thinks physically changing his clothes for him might be a step too far for them both.

By the time he struggles back upstairs with Miliband's duvet, Miliband's lying back against the pillow in a pair of flannel pyjamas which make David bite his lip and grin. Miliband's wiping his mouth and David frowns, causing Miliband to mutter "Spilt water. Brushing my teeth." His eyes look heavy again and David reminds himself that the medication isn't entirely out of Miliband's system.

"Ah. You-ah-" He flounders, unsure how to put it. "You were able to-get to the-"

Miliband rolls his eyes. "I would have told you if I wasn't" he manages, though his cheeks flush and they avoid each other's eyes. "I'm hardly stupid, Cameron."

David is suddenly struck by just how bizarre the situation is. He's standing in Miliband's bedroom with Miliband lying on his bed in pyjamas and a sprained ankle-which a part of him might still be convinced is David's fault-about to spend the night with him.

In fact, David's fairly sure he could forget the first part of the sentence. The last part should be explanation enough.

He drops the duvet rather unceremoniously on the bed. Miliband reaches for it quickly, apparently rather keen to prove he is not completely reliant on David for help. David lets him tug it over himself and only then does Miliband stare at him. "Um-you need a place to-"

David feels the blood rise to his own cheeks and notices that he's not the only one blushing. Miliband seems to suddenly be doing his level best to avoid meeting David's eyes.

"It's all right" David announces quickly. "I can use the floor." He means it-he's had plenty of experience sleeping on floors. Hospital floors, mostly-an experience he'd rather not have had but either way, it means right now is less of a problem.

Miliband stares at him." Don't be ridiculous, it's freezing."

David makes a dismissive sound. "It's practically _summer_ , Miliband."

"It's a cold night." There's something else in Miliband's voice now, something almost a little high-pitched. It's not quite panicked and it's not just concerned. "You can't sleep on the floor."

David knows he shouldn't say it but he does. "Well, where else would I sleep?"

The colour floods Miliband's cheeks and he looks away. David immediately wishes he'd kept his mouth shut.

"I'm going to get ready" he says, a little louder than he needs to, perhaps, and thanks God for aides and clothes that can be dropped off at a moment's notice.

Miliband nods, still avoiding his eyes, and it's only then that he says "Thank you."

David stares at him. "What for?"

Miliband's gaze snaps up to meet his own, his brow furrowed, as if he can't quite believe David isn't getting the point. "For this."

The words are simple, everyday. But somehow, in Miliband's voice, they come out a little more fervent.

Their eyes lock again for a moment. Miliband's are dark and wide and David feels suddenly a little unbalanced staring back into them, as if the world's tilted a little.

He makes some non-committal sound and is on the landing before he realises Miliband's one of the few people who can make him trip over his words.

He isn't entirely sure how he feels about that.

It's when he gets back into the bedroom, in his own pyjamas, and asks, a little over-brightly, "Throw us a pillow, then, I can find a blanket" that Miliband says "Oh, for God's sake, Cameron" and there's something quiet in his voice, something quiet and almost final that leaves David's heartbeat a little more rapid now.

He tries to smile. "What do you mean, for God's-"

In answer, Miliband rips back half of the duvet. "Get in."

David feels his heart throw itself against his ribs and tries to swallow, the disbelief lancing itself into his chest. "What?"

Miliband groans and half-buries his face in the pillow. "Don't make me say it again." His eyes meet David's over the top of the duvet, the colour creeping back into his cheeks and something in the gaze is anything but confrontational. It's wide and almost fearful, but not quite.

"Get in" Miliband says again but it's a lot softer this time, almost gentle. There's something else there too, that makes David's skin prickle and his mouth feel a little too dry.

He suddenly feels extremely foolish, standing there with Miliband staring at him, and hears his own voice asking, a little thinner than usual "Are-are you sure-"

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't sure." Now, Miliband's voice sounds tired, thinner and he rolls over. "Just-come on." He touches the mattress, a little more gently this time.

David swallows. There's not a polite way to refuse. Not that he wants to refuse.

That thought brings him up short.

But there's no way he can hesitate, and so, slowly, he moves forward. Almost in a dreamlike state, he finds himself pushing back the duvet, climbing into bed-next to Miliband-

_Next to Miliband._

Pulling the duvet back over himself and slowly settling his head on the pillow-next to Miliband-

_Next to Miliband._

David doesn't have a clue what to do and all his thoughts are alive with the words _Next to Miliband._ He's lying in a bed with Miliband. Somehow, this has ended up happening.

This has ended up being A Thing That Has Happened.

And now David doesn't have a clue what to do with it.

*

Ed realises dimly that he's facing the wall. His cheek's pressed into the pillow and he's facing the wall. He's far stiller than he should be and he's too aware of his breathing and his heartbeat, which he can feel in his chest, as if it's trying to break out.

Cameron's in bed next to him-

Ed nearly has to jam a hand over his mouth to stop some sort of hysterical laughter breaking free because _Cameron is in bed next to him._

He is in bed with David Cameron. He feels, for a moment, sure, that this is going to turn out to be a dream and he's going to wake up either here or in the apartment he rents in Merton, sheets twisted around him, eyes still blinking away the memory of that little freckle behind Cameron's ear, which Ed had noted in a vague, distracted way as Cameron had bodily carried him up the stairs.

He'd noticed that, he realises now, and it seems oddly important. He'd _noticed_ that.

He can't lie here stiffly, facing the opposite wall forever but the thought of turning round almost makes him squeeze his eyes shut and hope it's all a dream.

(Almost.)

(Not quite.)

Because Cameron's lying next to him-in _pyjamas,_ for God's sake, _pyjamas-_

Though God knows what else Cameron would wear.

And for a minute when he'd first come into the bedroom, seeing him like that had been so deeply strange that Ed had fought back a weird desire to laugh and at the same moment his hands had tightened in the duvet because he'd wanted to-to-

Cameron's pyjamas are navy. Ed's somehow moving onto his back as he thinks this. Cameron's pyjamas are navy and look-expensive-

(Of course they do.)

And-they're-well-

_Cameronish_ pyjamas.

They suit him.

Well, obviously, they're _his_ pyjamas-

Ed then realises he's lying there, his eyes drifting to Cameron, while he considers the suitability of his pyjamas. He wonders sadly and despairingly for a moment if he has in fact entered some alternate universe and is indeed about to find out that he's Prime Minister.

Cameron's lying on his back, his eyes half-closed, and Ed's eyes track his hairline. It's receding a little and there's streaks of silver in there, and Ed can almost trace the bags under Cameron's eyes with his gaze-

Cameron's head turns towards him and their eyes meet. For a moment, they stare at each other.

Ed turns away, fixing his gaze on the ceiling and mutters "Sorry" without really knowing why, and he prays to something he doesn't even believe in that Cameron won't ask.

Cameron, of course, asks.

"Why?" There's a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth but something softer about his eyes. He's watching Ed.

Ed bites his lip and then looks at him and then can't help but look again.

"Um-I'm not-I just didn't want you to be-" He tugs at the duvet and hates Cameron for making him bring it up.

"Uncomfortable" he finally grinds out, staring up at the ceiling and wishing he'd never watched the stupid PMQs session.

"Uncomfortable?" Cameron laughs, which does nothing for Ed's mood.

"I appreciate concern for other people isn't a common attribute in Tories-"

He already knows it isn't one of his best lines and then Cameron raises an eyebrow. "You'll appreciate then that I'm apparently spending the night with you out of entirely selfish motivations. Which can, of course, be the only reason I spent the whole afternoon looking after you."

Ed barely hears the second half of the sentence because the first half is rather lodged in his brain and he feels the blood rush to his cheeks. Colour seems to be tickling Cameron's too.

"I-ah-"

Ed speaks quickly because he owes Cameron an apology, he reluctantly notes, and not at all because he's a little afraid of what Cameron might say next.

"It's all right-" and then "I'm sorry" gabbled out a little too quickly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I-um-" He doesn't quite know how to say it but he settles on "I appreciate it."

"Appreciate what?" Cameron's voice is curved a little with amusement and something that could perhaps be relief. "How very selfish and unthinking all we Tories are?"

Ed rolls his eyes. "You know what."

His voice somehow comes out a little lower, softer than usual and he's turned to face Cameron again without realising it. "Thank you."

Cameron grins at him from the other side of the bed and Ed almost laughs again because the whole situation is simply too bizarre.

"You're welcome." Cameron rolls onto his back and then announces "I wasn't going to leave you, Miliband. I mean, I'm sure it's what you expected-"

"Your prediction of people's expectations haven't always gone well, Prime Minister-"

Cameron laughs and that's when it hits Ed just how surreal this is. They're lying in Ed's bed arguing the way they always do and it shouldn't be this _easy._

They're _in Ed's bed,_ for God's sake.

But that's the thing. There's always been something horribly easy about him and Cameron in some ways. Not always their conversations or their disagreements or politics-but there's something easy about the way they carry them out. They can fall into their disagreements and arguments as easily as if it's a conversation about the weather or biscuits or-or-

It's just how they converse and it's strangely easy anywhere and-

Enjoyable. Almost.

And for some reason, it doesn't seem strange that it should be easy now.

Easy, and almost-

"Are you all right?" Cameron asks, breaking into Ed's thoughts. "I mean-do you need anything?"

Ed thinks for a moment, then stretches. "No. Thanks. I feel-better." He does, surprisingly. "I mean, it still hurts, but-"

"It will." Cameron winces in sympathy. Ed has to bite his lip to hold back the grin.

(He isn't entirely sure why he's grinning. Just something about seeing that concern on Cameron's face.)

He turns over quickly so he's staring at the ceiling. It's after a moment of lying side-by-side, staring into the darkness that Cameron says "So, you still watch PMQs."

Ed feels himself still.

There's a few moments of silence which seem to stretch out far longer before he hears himself say, slowly "Yeah."

There's another silence and then Ed says quickly "I need to see how-how badly you're doing, Cameron. "

The words trail off into silence between them. He can suddenly hear his heartbeat which seems very, very loud in the dark.

Cameron's words, when they come, are a little quieter. "That's rather flattering, Miliband."

Ed's heartbeat seems to quicken and when he tries to speak, his mouth is dry. There's a strange swooping sensation in his stomach as he turns to look at Cameron and manages to come out with "Um-"

"Still-" Cameron speaks a little too quickly now. "You probably provide a better Opposition than your current leader, even just watching-"

Ed snorts. "Cameron, if that was an attempt at a compliment, then-"

He trails off at the sight of Cameron's blue eyes fixed on his through the darkness. His cheek is pressed into the pillow and the other lifts in a smile at the sight of Ed's gaze. "Maybe" is all he says, but that smile is there, light in his voice through the darkness.

Ed swallows and struggles for words. He knows he's blushing and is suddenly very thankful for the fact it's dark.

There's a long silence and then Cameron looks away. "I take it you weren't impressed with my performance?"

"I did point that out to you several times, Cameron-"

"I was just ascertaining." Cameron shoots him a grin through the dark that shouldn't make Ed want to grin back as much as it does.

He turns away and stares at the ceiling, instead, biting his lip.

"Ever been impressed with my performance?" Cameron's propped up on one elbow now, that Etonian tinge to his voice, that grin at his mouth, everything that Ed should find _infuriating,_ no matter how much Cameron has done for him today-

He doesn't.

Or he does.

But not just infuriating-

"I sense no answer from the Right Honourable Gentleman-" Cameron's voice is teasing and Ed bites his lip, wondering whether to just throw a pillow at him.

He keeps his gaze on the ceiling, safely away from Cameron. "I didn't say you'd never done well-"

"Oh?" Cameron's watching him.

After a moment, Ed says quietly "Don't push it, Cameron."

He can sense Cameron's grin spread immediately and rolls his eyes. "That's pushing it."

"I didn't say anything-"

"You're still pushing it."

Cameron laughs, quietly, almost to himself and then says "I've missed you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ed senses Cameron still very suddenly, but for a moment, he can't look at him. The words hang there between them, and he can feel the blush rising to his own cheeks.

"Ah-" He can sense the movement of Cameron's throat as he swallows out of the corner of his eye. He can't look at him. His heart is pounding in his chest. He stares up at the ceiling.

"I-um-" For once, even Cameron sounds flustered. "We can-sorry, Ed. We can-forget I said that."

"No."

Ed's spoken before he can think about it but it's too late now and he's turning to look at Cameron.

"I mean-um-we don't have to forget about it. I mean-it's all right. That you-um-m-miss-" He can't quite finish the sentence and can hear himself getting tongue-tied.

Cameron glances at him and then, after a moment says "Thank you."

Ed swallows. Somehow, it's sounded like a compliment, and for some reason, he doesn't mind that.

He twists the duvet between his fingers and it's there growing between them, and it's that that makes him blurt out "Well-I. Well. I miss you. Too."

He feels the blush rush to his cheeks the second the words are out, and immediately fixes his gaze on the ceiling. He waits for Cameron to laugh, to give him a grin.

But Cameron doesn't. He lies very still and then says quietly "Do you?"

Ed could stay quiet. Or say no. Or-

(There are so many _ors.)_

But instead, he threads his fingers together. And it's something else in that strange camaraderie they've always fallen into together that makes him say, his voice a little strangled "Yes."

There's a short silence and then a forced laugh. "You miss correcting me, I'm sure-"

"No" and Ed isn't quite sure what makes him interrupt, only that something about Cameron thinking that just can't sit right, and he can't just let it lie there. "I don't mean that."

He swallows. His heart is thudding painfully. He can't look anywhere near Cameron.

And then "Thank you." Again. But quieter.

He can feel Cameron watching him. He can actually _feel_ it and his fingers curl into the duvet.

Eventually, he can't keep looking at the ceiling any more, and his head jerks to stare at Cameron almost fiercely, as if he's waiting for some kind of jibe.

Cameron just looks back. His eyes are big and blue and his face is unreadable in the dark. And suddenly, Ed can remember something, fragments of memory splintering sharply.

_You have blue eyes._

His own voice, a little slurred, because he'd only just noticed and of course he'd noticed before that they were blue. But they were _so_ blue and he'd felt the need to tell Cameron right _then,_ which he can now see all too clearly was affected by the vast amounts of medication swimming through his bloodstream.

But there's something else too, that his mind catches onto: Cameron's voice, low and careful and softer. _Thank you._

And then something-

Cameron's watching him. He hasn't looked away-

Cameron's hand, warm and gentle on his forehead, even as Ed's eyes closed.

Cameron wouldn't have done it if Ed's eyes had been open, he knew that, they both knew that-

So Ed hadn't opened them.

He stares back at Cameron and bites his lip.

"Ah-Ed-"

"Thank you" Ed blurts out again before Cameron can say something he isn't ready for. "Thanks for-um-this-" He winces as a twinge of pain makes its' way from his neck to his back.

Cameron frowns. "What was-"

Ed shakes his head, grimacing at the thought of dealing with pain in two places. "Just-my neck-from earlier-"

He winces, leans back, and that's when he realises Cameron has propped himself up on one elbow, watching him, without a single trace of a smile, or amusement or anything else.

He doesn't say anything for a moment. Ed stares back at him.

Then Cameron says quietly "Turn around."

*

For a moment, David wonders if Ed will actually do it. A part of him wonders if that's what he's actually just asked.

(He knows it is.)

Because this should feel stranger than it is.

Because he'd said "I missed you" without even thinking about it, and he hadn't realised how true it was until he'd said it.

Because he keeps waiting for it to feel strange and it doesn't.

Miliband is lying a few inches away from him, both of them under a duvet in pyjamas. And he doesn't mind at all.

And he can see that Ed's in pain, and he wants-

He wants to _do_ something.

The same way he wanted to shut down the stupid Mail headline.

The same way he wanted to tuck a coat around his shoulders.

And a part of him wonders if this is what Miliband feels like all the time, if this is what he thinks about constantly and if _this_ is why he can never stop arguing-

Ed's still looking at him. The moment stretches out between them. For a second, David thinks he isn't going to move.

And then he rolls over.

For a moment, David just stares at him, the shock of Ed actually doing what he's asked, without even wanting to know _why,_ still hitting him. But then he notices the tension of Ed's shoulders and realises it would be rather better to get on with it before Ed decides he doesn't trust David enough after all.

"Ah-" He wriggles a little closer to him, and then almost laughs out loud. He's _wriggling_ a _little closer_ to _Miliband_ in _bed._

He doesn't have any idea what he's doing.

It's terrifying.

But Ed's in pain.

And for some reason, even when they've been arguing and disagreeing and debating and everything else they've done-that's something he hasn't ever liked seeing.

He knows this because life would have been so much easier if he had.

The moment stretches out between them, and David can hear his own heartbeat. He takes a deep breath.

Very slowly, he reaches out and puts a hand on Ed's shoulder. Then he waits.

Ed doesn't push him away. He lies very still. David can hear him breathing, the heavy rhythm of it. He just lies there.

David slowly moves a hand up to the back of Ed's neck. He waits again. Ed still doesn't move.

Slowly, he begins to move his hand gently in soothing circles, massaging the back of his neck. Ed draws in a breath.

"Does that hurt-"

"No." Ed says it almost before David's finished the question. "No, it-"

He doesn't say any more and David moves a little more gently, rubbing the back of his neck, before his other hand creeps up to hold Ed's shoulder.

"Do you-" He coughs. "Do you want me to stop-"

There's a long silence and this time Ed just shakes his head very slowly.

David feels the breath catch in his throat.

He keeps going, massaging Ed's neck and the top of his back. Ed lies still at first, his breathing a little deeper, his pulse rapid whenever David brushes against it. Then, very slowly, Ed stretches a little when David's thumb presses a little deeper, and when he does it again cautiously, Ed repeats the movement and then arches a little, like a cat.

They don't say anything. That and the darkness makes it easier, their breathing both heavier now, David's fingers lingering on the bare heat of Ed's skin. It's similar to those times before in some ways. The way that neither of them had said anything as David had slid that jacket around him, the way that his chin had almost rested on Ed's shoulder for a moment before they both pulled back in the same breath. Similar to the way he used to take Ed's arm without thinking and their eyes would meet as his fingers lingered a second too long.

It's easier not to say anything. But it's getting harder.

Ed's skin is warmer than he'd think. He's smooth and soft and David keeps wanting to hold on a little longer. He can see the lines under Ed's eyes here and for a moment, he could reach out and trace them. He's so close to him his nose is brushing Ed's hair.

It's no words. It's all hands and skin and hair and mouths.

(His mouth is almost brushing Ed's hair.)

(He could just press-)

His hands keep moving until one slides down to Ed's shoulder again. He can feel where the material touches his skin. He can feel his own hand, creeping an inch at a time until it's resting on Ed's collar bone.

"Tell me if-" His head's spinning. A part of him wants Ed to tell him to stop. A part of him wants to want to stop.

Ed gives a short, sharp nod, and his breath comes out as a stuttering little gasp. David could think about what this will be in the morning but it's dark and Ed's breathing next to him and his arm's moving-

His arm slides around Ed, suddenly lower. It's fumbling and a little awkward and then he's holding him.

He hears Ed take in one sharp breath and waits to be pushed away.

He isn't.

*

Cameron's holding him-

Cameron's hands on his neck had felt good-

Cameron's holding him-

Cameron's breath had tickled his skin and it had been so close that for a moment Ed had thought he-

Cameron's holding him-

All these thoughts spin and circle and dart back to that one incontrovertible point.

_Cameron's holding him._

Ed can hear his own breathing.

There'd been a moment when he could have told Cameron to stop.

He'd waited to want to tell him to stop.

Waited. And-

He hadn't.

And now-Cameron's arms are around him.

His ankle's throbbing and his eyes are heavy. Cameron's arm is around him, warm and cradling.

(He and Justine never slept like this, with their arms around each other.)

(She wasn't the type and he didn't think he was, either.)

(He doesn't want to think about that, right now.)

Cameron's arm is around him and one hand is rubbing his back, up and down his spine.

It's nice.

More than nice.

(Is this what Cameron does with Samantha, is this what-)

(He doesn't want to think about that either.)

Cameron's breath is tickling his cheek. Ed wants to push himself back into him.

He does, he realises with a sudden shock. He wants to-push himself _back-_

Pull Cameron's arm around-

He doesn't move and then Cameron's hand slides round, so it's resting over Ed's heart.

For some reason, it's awfully, terribly intimate, that Cameron can feel his heart. More intimate than carrying him. More intimate even than that hand on his forehead.

It's like the time Cameron slid a jacket round his shoulders, wrapping it round his front, and even though Ed had lost (he'd lost and he'd-they'd just been _decimated_ and it was _him_ , it was all _him_ , and he still couldn't quite _hate_ Cameron, that was the very worst bit, because he _should,_ it was only fair, he _should_ be able to hate him-)

Cameron's hands had hovered and Ed's breath had caught and for a moment, it had felt like he could step back and Cameron would hug him.

And a part of him had wanted-

"Your heart's racing" Cameron says very quietly.

Ed tries not to gasp and he can feel his heart, pounding against Cameron's palm, like it's trying to crawl through his skin-

He feels himself nod slowly and even though he's just answering, it feels like something more, and then Cameron's chin is on his shoulder, their cheeks pressed together.

"I meant it." It feels like a minute and an age passes before Cameron says that, their skin warm and touching, Cameron's chin almost tickling his collar bone.

Ed thinks he won't be able to speak for a few moments and his eyes shouldn't be this heavy when his skin is prickling all over, waiting to be touched and not knowing what it wants and-

"What did you mean?" is what comes out of his mouth in a whisper.

This time, Cameron's fingers comb through his hair for the briefest of moments and then the words touch his jaw, Cameron's voice tickling his neck. "I missed you."

Ed lies there and he can't think of anything else to say, so he nods. He can't think. He's lying here with Cameron's arm around him and he can't think.

His eyes are heavy and how can he be sleepy right now-

Cameron whispers "You need to sleep-" and Ed nods, but then when Cameron moves back, his hand touches Cameron's.

He didn't know he was going to do it until he already had and then his hand's touching Cameron's, holding it there. He feels Cameron still, his hand over Ed's heart, which he can feel beating crazily. His eyes flicker closed for a minute.

After a moment, Cameron's thumb strokes Ed's palm gently. Ed's eyes flutter open, peering through his eyelashes.

"Missed you." He's not sure if he says it at all.

But Cameron moves then, just a little behind him, bringing himself closer so they're curled around each other like spoons.

Cameron's arm is around him and Ed's eyes have fallen shut.

Cameron's arm is around him and he's leaning-

And his mouth-

His mouth just brushes Ed's cheek.

Ed's eyes open but he doesn't move. He stays very still, apart from his fingers, which, he only realises once he's done it, are folding around Cameron's, holding his hand there.

*

David barely kisses him. Barely presses his mouth to Ed's cheek. Barely says his name again.

It shouldn't feel as right as it does to be lying here, with Ed curled against him, and it shouldn't feel right to have his arm around him and it shouldn't feel right to have his mouth against Ed's cheek-

It shouldn't but-

He can't speak, so he just holds Ed's hand, feels Ed's heartbeat, rapid and alive and somehow, feeling that feels so close, something so personal, that David almost can't breathe with it.

He barely kisses him.

But he does.

"Get some sleep" he whispers.

He almost doesn't recognize his own voice.

He shouldn't recognize himself.

He shouldn't feel like himself, lying here with his arms around Miliband. This shouldn't feel like any part of himself.

But-

Ed's fingers brush his own and then slide through them, very cautiously, and it does.

He closes his eyes and it does.

*

"Get some sleep" Cameron whispers to him, and Ed's eyes close even as his skin, his lungs, his heart throwing itself against his ribs, all reach out, stretching, for Cameron.

But his hand's there. In Ed's own. All Ed's thoughts are drawn straight to that, over and over.

Cameron's hand is holding Ed's own.

Ed's holding it too.

He's holding Cameron's hand and that shouldn't make his shoulders relax but it does.

It shouldn't make him relax into Cameron holding him, but it does.

He's sleepy and his eyes are heavy and Cameron just kissed his cheek and neither of them are saying anything.

Cameron's holding him and his thoughts are dreamy with sleep, running into one another, and it shouldn't feel so nice, but it does.

They don't speak, but then they don't need to. They lie there together, Cameron's arm around him, their cheeks pressed together, Cameron's hand in his own. They lie there, with the dark warm and quiet around them, letting sleep creep up on him like a blanket and David's hand in his own.

David's lying there with his arm around him. Ed's holding his hand.

(And he just likes it, lying here, David's arm around him, their hands warm and holding each other, in the darkness of what used to be his bedroom and now he can't make himself hurt that it isn't-)

He's lying against David's chest, with David's arm around him and it's better than the time he put the coat around his shoulders or those times he grabbed Ed's arm too quickly. It's better because something that was there, just lapping at the corners of it all-now it's here in the warm darkness between them-

Ed can feel himself falling asleep in the warm dark and David's arm's around him.

He's relaxed against his chest. They're holding each other.

It should feel wrong.

It should feel strange.

It doesn't. At all.

*

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ed's iron plate in his wrist was sustained through a fall when he was on holiday back in 2013, I believe. The article David references is one Justine wrote in the Guardian defending Sophie Trudeau (which was most unfortunate, given what occurred involving Justin Trudeau literally the day after the article was published.) Ed's love of Jaffa Cakes is well documented, as indeed is his loathing for dunking them in tea. Ed has been spotted heading to Merton, recently.   
> Leave a comment if you liked it. :)


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